Life's an Amoeba

Oh you glorious, glorious piece of life,
Messed up, shapeless
Forever flowing, locomotive.
You show me who I don't want to be
You tell me the story of my life:
Betrayed and shapeless
Bemused and real
You make me afraid of a past..
How curving and moving away from it,
Would help me get rid of it..

Oh you lovely, lovely piece of life,
You speak of love
Of emotion, beauty, comradeship
So loud, yet unclear
So stark, but indefinite
You speak of love
A love that knows no ends nor means
A love that's just a surviving treat..

Oh you beautiful, beautiful piece of life,
You make me look at you
Like I often look at my mind..
Chaotic and indecisive
Beautiful and kind
And when
Strings of depression and memories,
Of pain and gain,
And of lust and joy
Intermingle-
You confuse me, comfort me
Defy and deny..

Oh you crazy, crazy piece of life,
Above my life and above my mind,
Beyond love, lust and joy,
You look at me, like I'm staring right at the mirror
You are me, a paradoxical definition
Boundless, limitless and forever thirsty
In search of shape that can fit my imperfections completely:
All my curves and edges
You show me who I am-
An insignificant part of a prominent whole,
One of too many of a kind.
Oh you, you expose me-
My insecurities, my blemishes, my faults
My mistakes, my life
And you look me in the eye
Silently screaming, "You are ME."

Bounce off Silences

Trapped,locked out of heaven-
Green,blue,red,happy heaven and its faults
Its faults, miseries and undying will
Faith torn apart,life kicked out of me
Or so I thought

Silence dropped in through a leaking roof-

A roof called love-a layer now with too many holes

A roof called responses-silence was the loudest

A roof called family-or should I just say fake promises

A roof called secrets-of lies,darkness and sorrow, death?

Happiness is but a choice-

A choice of an ending or a new beginning

A choice of a relapse or a step forward

A choice of a memory-stark,bloodred

Or a broken,shattered past

So seal the roof-and grow wings to fly away

I was made to run,to float like a bubble-

A bubble of momentary zest,permanent happiness

To swim across my deepest fear

To glide above my darkest secret

Neither am I a cold-hearted lost voice

Nor your lust,passion,desire or a missing piece

I am not a silence,but a noise

A roar-the voice that won't shut down

A storm that won't settle

And for what it's worth-

I live to soar high,to go places

I don't belong to the cracked shed

Anymore

The IDEA of love

In a moment of pain and unbroken silence, I turned towards you. Through text messages and virtual meetings, I thought you'd complete me. Perfection had never meant something so stark and real ever before. My physical incapacity, my emotional scars, my weaknesses- they vanished, or rather were forced to get away because every time I thought of a 'Maybe' that existed, it lit up my world. The slightest idea of the comfort of your shoulder when I succumb to my weaknesses seemed like the end of chaos and the beginning of beauty, the end of weaknesses and the beginning of a future. 

But eventually, when I knew my weaknesses were hard-wired into my brains, when I realised that the true enemy can never be fought until you fight it yourself, I knew romance was not my answer to it. Love was never the answer, it has always been a question.

What if?
Or just uncertainty hanging down the like a creeper from the roof.

Maybe.

This is what kept me going for a long time. I had layered my emotional scars with moments of happiness sent through an electronic signal, from someone, perhaps, non-existent in my real world. And eventually I was addicted to the idea of the person, rather than the person himself. I never noticed how he moved his fingers when he waved at someone, neither did I notice how his lips broke into a painful smile when he said goodbye. I never noticed if his answers were the same as mine or not. I just always wanted him to be there for me, regardless of whether I was there for him or not. And I guess he never asked for too much. But the thing about crushes we develop over the internet or a text message or a phone call, is that, they are never here to stay. They give you an idea of what you want, but never will they ever let that imagination of yours take shape into reality.
And all of us know the beauty of observing water take shape of the glass container, which it is poured in. It's completeness, it's transparency, it's existence, it's presence.

I have never needed people, until recently. I have them, but I still don't find the right words to express how I feel. Of how one man changed my idea of men, of how one incident pressed into my heart forever long, will change my idea of happiness. I could never find the words, or rather, I don't want to.

These people I've let look inside of me, the ones I trusted, the ones I've given keys to happiness, were just ideas of people. They weren't actually there. Most of the people I've loved have also been ideas of a great person. But the only people I love right now are those I really know, are those I really feel, are those who are equally inadequate, who are scarred, who are deeply hurt, who have pasts that haunt them, who are as human as me and who need me as much as I need them.

All of us spend too much time contemplating our What Ifs and counting our Maybes, that when someone walks across us with eyes as dreamy as ours, they'd escape our attention, because never would we know, how to trust another person, how to judge truth in people's eyes, and how to tell phony from real.

But really, it is high time we learn. Time we know whom to lend our hearts out to. Time we know who can keep us safe and who cannot. Time we know that this IDEA of love is not really love, it's just an illusion. An illusion that keeps us going, some times. But it is not what we are looking forward to. It's not IT. It's a maybe, a possibility. But we need to run wild, throw our phones away for a while, just bump into a stranger and maybe for the first time, feel the magic in a kiss we have always longed for.

Let me run, don't hold me back

On my infatuation with sleep

"Sleep fights depression.", she typed.
"Sleep fights reality.", I replied.

IBDP (International Baccalaureate Diploma Program) has made me fall asleep on text books and during the most interesting classes, because I've had a lack of sleep for the last 2 years, almost everyday. Procrastinating can be blamed, but I still blame the IB and their tedious schedule.



For 3 days now, I've slept for about 13 hours everyday. It's strange that I choose to wile away precious time by sleeping instead of doing something more productive. Every morning, there is this fight which I have with myself. I compel myself to paint, to dance, to sketch, to write, to read, to at least watch TV, but through these tasks which are supposed to make me feel active, I just get affiliated to sleep a little more. It's interesting what sleep does to me. It's cozy and warm, and you feel like you're floating eventually. I've had nothing to do in the recent past, so I sleep. Is that the reason, really? No, I sleep because it is too hard to face myself all the time. These thoughts, these emotions, this want, this greed, these expectations, THIS REALITY. To fight this, I sleep. It's escapism, but such escapism is encouraged by me because I don't even want to face myself anymore. It's not tough or anything, it simply is not worth it. Now you might think, if it isn't worth it, then why think of it? Let me tell you a little something about reality that can't be forgotten whatsoever.

I broke hearts, because I didn't feel good. I changed, because I wanted to. I kept people at bay, because I enjoyed pizza better. I ignored, because I didn't want to accept. I just left, because I didn't want to stay. 

Does that sound like a terrible person? You're all that person. At least one of those people. I am, too. If this sounds bad, speak of the past.

Got molested before getting my first period, got beaten up because he was more powerful, got badly parented, got bullied at school, never got enough of love, never could hold on to what was rightfully yours, never belonged, never loved

That sounds like a broken person. So much of the past hidden under layers of virtual happiness. One day, the day of epiphany, you'll tear up all those layers of unscathed history and succumb to your weakness and cry. Cry for as long as you can, because right now, nothing can ever change it.
"It's in the past, I don't care!", he told me. "It's my past, I care.", I grimly replied.
It's easy for people to say "Let go of the past, only then can you embrace the future." That's hilarious, human. Because I don't know how to let go of the past, neither am I going to learn. It makes me who I am.
 A person alternating between being 9, 13 and 17 years of age.

"Idle mind is a devil's workshop!", my mother screamed at me when I was 10. I was sitting in the garden and staring at the stars on a beautiful night. She didn't know what I was thinking about then, she doesn't know now, she will never know ever. So, instead of sitting under the stars, doing nothing, but thinking, I chose to sleep. Because right now, I can't think of what I usually think of. I have nothing important to do, nothing that will change my life. So, I sleep.

And then there are dreams. Yes, and nightmares too. You all know neither will come true, but dreams excite and nightmares freak me out. But it doesn't mean that the fear of dreams never coming true, or nightmares coming true, will stop me from sleeping because like someone I know rightly said, "Sleep, for me, is sacrosanct."

For each of us, sleep means differently. To her it meant, fighting depression. To me it means to fight reality. To you, it might just be a necessity. But whatever it is, it helps. It helps me live. At least, right now.

I can't

Could I just hold you tight

And let you bleed in my arms tonight?

Could I sing you to sleep

And let your heartbeat be the rhythm?

Could I just whisper-I love you

And hear you say it to me in every breath you take?

Dear Prince Charming

Dear Prince Charming,

I saw you walk down our favourite lane, hand-in-hand with the girl next door everyone speaks about.
Scarlet dress, blue eyes, supple skin, brave heels.
I notice how you take your steps with her, examining and thinking, mapping and wondering, either to put your heel down before your toe or otherwise, just so that your shoe makes a louder noise.
You hold her hip, like you practiced with me, rounded around her waist so perfectly.
And she melts over you like chocolate sauce on my sundae, merging together the disastrous imperfections.
Both of you fail to notice me walk down the same street, struggling my way into the house with bags of bonbons for my younger sister and groceries for my nagging mother.
I observe how slowly your lips break into a smile and she laughs throwing her head back and turning to you.
I wonder which joke you had told her, was it the one about the shop we used to buy racquets from? Or about how your father dealt with the police complaint?
Dear Prince Charming, I know you so well that I understand how limited your sense of humour is. But repetition makes it funnier and our jokes never get old.
I can still remember the night your hand melted into mine and you held me through the night, just in comfortable silence.
And how you held two cups of coffee in your hand for two whole hours outside the interview hall, expecting me to walk out in need of it..
I heard from the redhead neighbour we usually hang out with, that you asked her to the summer dance. It surprised me. Our rhythmic practices for three odd months is wasted upon a girl we used to make fun of?
She wears short skirts, red lipstick, stunning mascara and phony personality. She stood you up, the night we first spoke and you choose to take her to the dance we've practiced for together.
She could never belong to anybody and here I am, giving all I have to just bring you back to me.
But I cross my heart in pregnant pain and realize that, Dear Prince Charming, you're settling for less than a Princess and I'm positive that this is your loss.

Metamorphosis

"Smells, like music, hold memories. She breathed deep, and bottled it up for posterity."
-The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

People evolve, some grow out and adapt to the society and others, they grow in and find solace within the confines of their rooms. The latter is like a butterfly not wanting to fly, as it misses being a caterpillar, no one had told her (the butterfly) that she needn't revert back in order to keep what she had.
I walked down the lane I used to love,today. The smell of the greenery transported me back to the days I cycled down the same streets. I watched a few kids ride across me, they might have been a few years younger than me and it hit me, the fact that the desperation of being social had got to me so deep, that I forgot the joy of being left alone,just to myself. And I remembered this journey, this metamorphosis, this growth, this cycle of life that is and will always continue to define you as a person. The transformation from silent walks down a few streets, alone, humming to myself, to cycling with another friend whom I never spoke to, to riding shotgun in my car and looking at these streets as if they deserved nothing but pollution; from green trees to their expressive autumns, to the shade during the summer, to their disappearance and non existence; from a girl whose silence spoke volumes, whose gestures were just adorable, to a blunt, lost, depressed, lonely teenager. The revelation of this transformation just beat the conscious in me that told me I have had a good time as an extrovert.

"Change is one thing. Acceptance is another."
-The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

I never realised when my life started to revolve around people, their expectations, the society, my family, I just never knew how things flipped over for me. From the silent, keep-to-myself, I just broke out of the shell and started finding comfort in other people's words and beliefs. And unknowingly, my life diverted onto a track that was meant to be mine but was never going to stay too long. The stuff that once made me enjoy life, defined happiness for me were no longer a part of life. There were people, too many people, to even know if it was actually a dream. The joy of privacy never excited me, it always had to be shared, people always had to know. In fact, the little things like drizzles on a Saturday afternoon or hot Maggi couldn't make me happy anymore. To be able to adjust, to be able to understand, to be able to fit in were the primary keys of life and I learnt the art of impressing and yes, dominating. But things that are not meant to be don't stay along with you forever, they fade away, as simply as they came in. They're flashy, momentary excitements which sends chills down your spine by their very existence but they are never definitions of life, never who you are ought to be.

"Human beings are creatures of habit, and it is amazing what kind of things they can get used to."
-The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

The butterfly cannot become a caterpillar again, but Hope that her counterparts will reach her soon, keeps her going, keeps her alive. But it changes her forever. Because hope is never concrete, just its presence in the abstract sense can help you survive, but can never help you become happy.
Depression knocks on my door every now and then, and it is unexplainable, the pain. It just comes and goes on its own. But finding pieces of yourself and putting them back together, walking down the same old roads, loving the movies you regret missing, reading and rereading your favourite poems, cycling down with a stranger whose presence doesn't disturb you, will keep you away from the world filled with people. With material satisfaction, with expectations, with promises, with futures.

It's a cycle. Life always is, there is no escape from the past. One can never escape one's own roots, no matter how much we try to let go. We still belong here, within the confines of our own rooms and we are answerable only to ourselves because the only guarantee of a future you have, is you.

 "Anything is possible in Human Nature. Love. Madness. Hope. Infinite Joy. Of the four things that were Possible in Human Nature, Rahel thought that Infinnate Joy sounded the saddest."
-The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy