The victim

Yes! Here it is..

Maya.

She was, as usual, sitting at her desk. Just as quietly as ever. The two invalids near her would always notice. She could hear them talk behind her back. One would say, "Do you see her back?" "Of course! I see the marks", the other would reply.
 "Why do you think she let's him do it?"
"Oh! There are plenty of this kind in the country"
"But look at her, would you? She's pretty, beautiful, intelligent. She can earn her own living without him. She is not dependent on him at all."
"But she is"
"For what? Love? *loud wicked laugh* God! She'll kill herself someday"
"You don't get it, do you? She's the kinds who won't move away from him. It's just like how parasites breed on trees and then you can not differentiate which is the benefactor and which is the beneficiary. Women like her don't need independence. They bear everything due to lack of motive. I read an article the other day about them. They are all called "victims". They ideally should stop it. But they won't"
"Damn! You're so right"
And thus, their lives would continue, unaffected.

They never knew she could hear them. It would hurt. But she was used to it anyway. She only wished that they did not know as much. She would not want anyone to think ill of him.

She never knew what grabbed her when she first saw him, at her mother's house, for the entire wedding deciding procedure. He looked at her steady and simple. She knew he could protect her from all harm (ah! little did she know). And he owned her since then.

He had this proprietory look in his eyes. Like he knew she'd be good for him. Like he knew they could go old together. "He's pretty short-tempered," his mother warned, "be sure marrying him would be a tight-rope walk."

And that was that. They were married. Maya wasn't aware of what awaits her. She was happy about it. She was looking forward to spending her life with him. And well, this is what happened:
He came forth, touched her and she shivered. You can't blame her, can you? She was a stranger to a man's touch, hitherto. And was so fragile, almost like glass. Whereas, he was a full-time rugby player. Never had he touched anything with care or caution. He did not expect that reaction. In a bizarre moment of over-flow of endorphin and adrenalin all over his system, he did what he could do best, try to snatch what he believed was his own. Well, he hit her, not willingly - of course. He did not know what to do. You can't blame him can you?

Since then the only physical relationship they shared was the ordeal of him hitting her. Honestly, he never wanted to do so. But he did not know how to react otherwise. Honestly, no one ever knew what was it. He wanted to be able to care for her, love her, want her. Nobody could deny he did. But they just could not talk. Most times, he would be at home waiting for her, eagerly with all the love he ever had. She would arrive, cook and they'd then sleep. However, sometimes she'd arrive late, sometimes she'd wait on her way to talk to neighbors, sometimes she'd cook little too less food, sometimes too much, the food was never prepared the way he liked it and even if it was, she'd not serve it well, sometimes she'd not prepare the bed good enough. There always was something or the other that she'd do wrong that would make him loose it. And he did not know a way to talk to her other than by his hand. He knew, he always knew that he could do better. But his anger always got the best of him. One could always wonder why did she not talk about it though. One could even believe he'd hit her just to hear her speak. She never even spoke about anything to anyone else.

Her days would begin in the same fashion. She'd wake up, moving muscle by muscle in order to not wake him up. She'd wrap cotton around her wrists because he never liked the noise her bangles made, he'd definitely totally detest waking up to the noise.She'd cook for him, cover the food as she never knew when would he eat. She'd then quietly slide into bathroom while he's probably just pretending to sleep, and most times she'd dab the water with a towel on her body to avoid the splashing echo of water on the tiles. Before getting out, she'd look at herself carefully, wrapping the saree around her shoulder in the perfect manner to hide all bruises, applying a second layer of concealer on the scars on her face. Then, she'd hurry out, the comb in her hands to tie her hair on the way to the bus. Boy! She was really scared of spoiling his day.
In the bus, she'd worry for him, hoping he's had the food in time, hoping the water was warm enough for him to bathe, hoping everything in his day was just about right so that he is not burning with rage when she has to see him in the evening.
Her office was a crowded one. All she had to do the entire day was to file insurance papers in order. There were a lot of people, but it was never mandatory to talk. She never made friends, shared meals, took interest in office gossip or attended gatherings. There were men who'd be waiting for occasions where they needed some paper filed by her, just so that they could see her look at them with her pretty eyes. Many would bribe the peons to move their desks every diwali a little closer to her. She never spoke a word, unless absolutely necessary. Some random neighbor who once worked with her would spread her personal life around. She knew they spoke about her. She heard them talk behind her back and mysteriously stop the minute she turned her face. She'd not mind at all. Frankly speaking, it made her feel special. It was her only reason to find time to chuckle to herself. And when the clock would tick 6:00, she'd quietly walk out to the bus stop. This was the most amusing part of her day. She was not to worry about things that have already happened in the day, she was to prepare herself for what lay ahead of her. She had defined her charms, an empty seat in the bus would mean that he would not beat her up today, a smile on the way back home would mean that he would not hit her face, sight of a dead dog generally meant that he probably would not be home or would have slept by the time she reaches.. someone wearing white on the way means he'll definitely like the food today.. It was that easy. One of these signs and she would be amused by herself.
These charms were her work of extreme calculations worked upon trial and error and had about a 70% chance at accuracy. They, honestly, were her best achievement.
Everyday that she reached the bus stop, she'd consider boarding a different bus to an unknown place. She'd wonder how bad the life could be to survive without. Sometimes, she'd take the bus with the longer route to avoid reaching home. But just like how birds who have the liberty to soar wide and far, yet they get back to the same nest at sunset,so would she.
She'd come home and cook again. Most times waiting to be hit so get over the fear. She'd wait for him to come to her and drag her to the bedroom so then he could hit her all he wanted. He would always do that, you know. He'd always drag her to the bedroom, sometimes with a firm grip on her hair, as though it was some work of divine passionate love-making. Sometimes, he'd hit her till she would fall asleep on the floor, she'd wake up the next day, like nothing happened.
Today, it was a tad too different. She had managed to burn the meal last night and he hated the oily smoke. She had been hit with a tablespoon and had straight marks all over her back. She was so tired that she could barely walk. She somehow had managed to work her way to the end of the day, but she could not stand her timid fright anymore. She had decided she'd talk to him and end her misery and if necessary, walk out (even she knew that was not to happen). She had decided that she'd tell him not to hit her. Tell him that she understands that he gets angry and doesn't know what to say, yet hitting wasn't necessary. She wasn't sure of how would he react. She almost enacted that in her head multiple times, each time with stronger words and she imagined it ending with his arms around her waist and she could cry her heart out to him. She did not want what had happened till now and she did not feel it needs to continue. Neither did he. She had seen it in him. She did realize though that in all the time that they have been married, they had hardly spoken. She had heard his voice when he spoke to others, but there hasn't been a conversation between the couple. Strange, one might think.

However, when taking the flight of stairs, fear gripped her again. Fear of the uncertain, the silence, the what-not. She knew that this wasn't normal. She had been afraid every day. But today was a tad too different. Almost unwillingly, she keyed the door, but it was unlocked. She opened the door and she saw a pool of blood with him in the middle of it, on the floor. It was then when she realized that she was too wounded to scream for help. She ran, with whatever strength she had to him and tried to pull him to life. Even with the floor too slippery with the blood, she couldn't move him an inch. She started crying out loudly. But what do you know, the neighbors must have thought that he is hitting her again.

She was there, helpless. He was there, too. He wasn't dead. There had been, most definitely, an accident. She knew not what happened. She knew not what to do. She knew not how to panic. She was, one may say, subjected to pain everyday; and as it is said, one does not get allergic to something to which one is exposed to on a regular basis.

Most loves are like that. It's like an over-crowded lifeboat. You need to throw stuff one-a-time to keep it afloat. So you throw your pride, self-respect and your independence, in that order. It is sinking still. After a while you start with people: friends, family, people you once knew and cared for. Yet, it's never enough. Nothing ever is. The lifeboat is still sinking. And then finally, you drown with it.

The end.

It was long pending. I needed to make a few corrections, I know. But this is the way it is.

Take care.

See ya around.

Reason

Ever had a reason?

A reason that makes you tick. A reason that makes you think, attract all attention, does not let you think of anything else. It may and it will overwhelm you to the extent that it does not let you do anything else. It is what you breathe. Even when you're busy with the trivia in life, you are thinking of the reason.
It could be anything. Work, art, leisure, a game, a thing to acquire, anything at all.
People who don't have a reason, have other things - like a spouse, a child, a home to go back to and most importantly, a life. They do what they must and they look at their lives with a different perspective.
It's funny. It is sometimes about the priorities, they say.
Do I really think so?
If you really had a reason, powerful enough, would your priorities not be your reason?
Why do people dismiss a passion?

But then, on afterthought, I believe it is a break even that all got to strike somewhere - I once had a friend. He had his reason. So preoccupied in the thought, he did not care for anything at all. He loved, loathed, hated and would get angry - just like anyone else. And yet, there was a difference. No love was pure enough, no loathing was worth it, no hatred filled him and fury, left him unharmed.
Once, I would envy him. I wanted to be like him. But now I see him. And I'm glad I'm not him. I don't think I'd ever be able to love a cause as much. I can't be so occupied with something that I build a ten feet wall around me involving the cause. I was miserable. And so was he.
But the difference in the misery is the break even i chose to strike.

i haven't the reason. Nor do i have anything else. Yet, it's calm. Calmer, at least, than it would be if I had anything.
Probably it is the calm of death, or the calm before the storm, or both. But for right now, it's calm.

Do I like it? Don't know
Want to know? Don't think so
Why? No reason

Anyway, see ya around. As usual.

Charms!

I have been working (read thinking of working) on "The victim" forever. It's a story, half-self-inspired, half-cooked-up for gloom. I intend to write it someday.

It is a depressing story of a woman.

However, I don't think I'll be able to complete it whole-heartedly. Let me tell you why:

I was once telling Ateet about "The victim". He was most astonished / moved by the part where Maya, my protagonist, would believe in what are her charms. By charms I mean the good / bad luck charms. for ex.:

> An empty seat in the bus would mean that he would not beat her up today
> A smile on the way back home would mean that he would not hit her face
> The sight of a dead dog, AH! she'll have to cover her scars the next day
> Appreciation at office would mean he'll hit her in the stomach
> Someone wearing white on the way means he'll definitely like the food today

Weird, how none of the above needed to be true in the near future for her to believe them. She would continue clinging to the ray of hope for certainty. For till she reached what she could call home, she knew what was to happen to her that day. That would give her a sense of peace. Like I said, it wasn't true. But that was the best she could have.

Ateet was worried when he heard about this. He opined that it is most disturbing when someone relies on such trivia for source of hope. And even more, when the belief is unstirred after proven wrong. He was true.
Now, look at Maya, shall we? What would she have done without these charms? What would have she for comfort on the long way back home other than fear?

I was bummed that Ateet found it depressing. I wasn't being innovative in the truest form of the term. Yet, I wished otherwise. Partly also because, it was one of the parts of Maya that I chose to develop from self experience.

Anyway, see ya around.

The plan, the escape, the jailbreak..

I had this plan, long ago, that I will leave whatever I have one day and go missing, to the knowledge of nobody. And then the part of my masterplan was to live a totally new life with a new identity. But that, my friend, was long ago. I was a child. I hadn't an idea of a passport or other such living proofs. Sipping martini in Bahamas without a past is not an easy task.

So I had parked it aside, the idea. And then, life happened. Several times.
I realized I could not live this anymore. So I wanted to execute this worldly plan. And I knew I couldn't. "I wonder why the birds come back home when they can soar far and high. And then, I wonder why do I."

I had a home. I knew I'd come home no matter what. A home that I could count on. But, well, not anymore.The question is - what happened?

I hoped. It made me happy, lethally. I could feel alive. However, the inevitable had to happen. I could have given up long long ago, but I did not. I had a feeling, it will stay. I clung to it, to the best of my ability. And I saw it fall. I saw it slip away from my hands like dry sand. The walls of my home refuse to recognize me. I failed them, as I see it. Or vice versa.

There lies the wonderful answer: Hope is a dangerous thing. Once my hopes hit the gutter, I realize I can not stand it anymore. I can't stay amongst the same faces, breathing the same air, living like a volcano waiting to explode for the purpose of mass destruction.

Now I plan an escapado. It being a trial run of the giant masterplan. I shall go. I, for sure, can not change my identity yet. But I am certain, I'd change the way people perceive me. And more than that, I'll change the way I perceive myself. This is not what I want to see of myself as. This girl I see in the mirror, she ain't me. She is searching for happiness more than peace. Little does she know, happiness doesn't stay.

So precisely the point, I am escaping from happiness. Because, I am tired of almost finding happiness and then realizing I screwed it up.

Why am I blogging about it? Because I want to remember this. Probably would read this more frequently than ever, so that I can stay loyal to my voyage for peace.
Why am I running away? Because I suddenly realized that I was running for the wrong motive.
Is it worth it? Maybe not. But what can be worse than losing the track, the motive and to an extent, my soul.
Am I giving up? Well, it's better than fighting a lost battle.
Should I try some remodelling / minor changes? It's a drowning ship, and I have been jettisoned by my source already. (Probably being the most painful object, I was jettisoned even without the necessity of it)
Will I ever be happy? *Withering smile*

Anyway, see you around, till it lasts.

Away!

Rudraksh would always ask me why I look back on people while walking away and why would I always wait up to see people go, till I can see them no more.
There is a reason behind it. Allow me to elaborate:

When I was a child and would go to school, there was a tree that was my landmark. Every day on the way back from school, I'd just stare out the car window, not ready to believe I'm home until I saw that tree. It wasn't an ordinary tree mind you. It was the most remarkable and oldest tree around, almost like a sage in a sea of juvenile delinquents. I remember the green walkway through which I would get driven down to school everyday.The tree was the most important part of the drive. It was family.
And then, one fine day, the inevitable happened. The tree was struck by lightening in my absence. It almost felt like someone died on me. Like some aged ancestor who had promised to show me the way home everyday, had just given up and left me astray. I was hurt! It was a breach of trust.

Since then, I have known how it feels to have a bankable being disappear. There have been times when I wished I knew it was to happen. I wish I had some time to prepare myself for the absence. Not that the time would have changed the fact that the tree wasn't there anymore, but more like I wanted to know in advance.

Since then, I have believed it to be necessary to have a notice. I like to see it when people go away. It gives me an imaginary sense of truth in the fact that people can inform before they go. I like to turn back and see the people who matter are still there waiting for me. It gives me an imaginary feeling of triumph, the one that makes me feel important to them. I like to cling to every moment that I can because I know, one day, it won't be there.

Going away, is mandatory. But not pleasant. Hence, I like to procrastinate the bit where departures / closures come into existence.

On that note, see ya around.

Revisiting the past

Hey there,

Haven't met for a long time, have we?
Yeah, well, I was occupied.

I have written some stuff, but I shall be publishing them some other time. For now, here it goes:

I am back to another godforsaken nook of the planet, back to the grind, back to the place where fears haunt me the most, the riots trouble me the most, the voices get seen the most, the works!

This place always drives me to think. And thinking I was.

So here is what struck: What if someday, I wake up and I have nothing to do, nobody to look up to, nobody to talk to, like an absolute limbo?
One of the biggest fears of my life has been loneliness. What would I do?
Work, money, things, materials never made sense to me. People did. What would I not do to have someone around me. Someone to care. Someone to treat me important, to make me a person.

We pass by phases in life when we think nobody matters, nobody understands us, nobody can care for us the way we need - so on and so forth. But the truth is, how much so ever incomplete life is with someone, it's even worse without.
I always wanted to not be in a situation, when I don't have a purpose. People are my purpose. When I don't have one, maybe I'll be old, or not.Maybe I'll be able to support myself, or not. But does that matter? Don't think so.
I believe what does matter is the fact that there people around me would be the reason for which I would do whatever I do. Anytime. Appreciation or otherwise of people, their freedom or dependence matters and has mattered to all. Isn't that also why all that has happened has happened?

We all are vain. Trivia can make us do good, evil or nasty stuff, whence, ginormous matters might not even change anything. It's weird how to most people ensuring that their child smiles is more important than keeping their surroundings clean.

And lo! Here I am, dragged out of the common course of the people that I am used to, into this plethora of strange faces that fail to recognize me.
Are my fears materializing? In a way.
Am I scared? To my spine.
Am I going to do anything about it? Don't think so.
Shall I be at peace? Not any time soon. (That has another reason too, but that is another post)

Anyways, see ya around.

Pain, attachment et al

I was reading about a certain muscular disorder the other day. So there was this girl, who had a peculiar tissue-issue in her muscles and could not feel pain.
Interesting and tempting as it is, she was completely oblivious to the entire concept. She had absolutely no idea what does it feel to be in pain. You could throw her in fire and expect her to walk out smiling. You could slap her like you want to kill her, but she'd still be friends with you and feed you when required.
I thought it made her life easier. I was reminded of all the times i have been in excruciating pain, which haven't been rare. I mean, just look at her! She could ram her bike into a wall, break about 148 bones in her body and still be alright! Nothing has made me more jealous than that.
But then, I read further and i realized, the poor girl had just a miserable life as everyone else. Her misery was different though.
Every morning she'd wake up in fear. What if she had scratched herself in the night? She'd not have known if she would have done something really really terribly painful to herself in sleep.
If she would jam her tiny toe to a bedpost, she might get a hairline fracture and not even know until the bone cracks open of some infection. She'd not realize if she has a cancerous lump in her body. All of that and more, because it doesn't pain. Nothing does.

That reminds me of someone.
However, then was when I realized that though painful, pain is necessary.

All of a sudden my masochism made sense. All of a sudden the desire to get hurt  did not seem insane anymore.
I've been searching for a way to make peace with the above for sometime. And I guess I found it.

Its weird how you love a few things and you know not why. Then comes the welcome breeze of change which might not give you a reason, but a justification. And for the want of logic, i choose to cling to the reason like a parasite.

Life did, for once, make sense, eh?

See you around.