Dumped!

Mandira had a habit of recording her own voice. People maintain diaries, she maintained an audio log. She was, although, well aware that she (rather anyone) would never hear what happened with her on that particular day. “It’s fun,” she’d tell mother, “someday, if I get famous, you could sell these for millions.”

She had been maintaining a happy log for a while; particularly since she met Abhijit. He was everything she could have expected in a guy. She also knew that she wasn’t anything he wanted in a girl. They had a passing affair. She knew it wouldn’t last. On this particular evening, she came home and started her recorder. Sniffing and sobbing, she barely muttered the voice to say the following..

So, it has happened. He’s dumped me. It’s not a surprise and I knew it was to happen sooner or later. But I’d rather it happened later than sooner. I’ve a strange feeling waiting to get out of me, it almost feels like I’ve been cheated. If he knew this wasn’t his thing, which he did, by the way, why did he even play along!

Why cheated, did you ask?
Mostly, I think it is not the part where he just told me that it is not going to work out between us. It’s the part where he said that he’d have given me the elaborate it’s not you, it’s me speech, but I’m better than that. Because in his world, I don’t even deserve an elaborate lie to cling on to. Anything that could give me a moderate reassurance that I wasn’t a complete fool in getting dreamy-eyed every time I saw him. I put in so much of myself into this thing. Since the moment I heard his voice the first time, since the first time he laid eyes on me, he was all that I thought of. It is true that what I feel is none of his business, but he’s the one who led me on, right? I mean, yes, I fell for him, multiple times at that. It is, however, a little strange if you tell me that he for once did not have the slightest idea! He knew everything about me, even though he volunteered no personal information at all. I was a little stupid, I guess. Well, as they say, I’m a smart person only till I fall in love, as after, I’m infinitely stupid.

You remember how I once said that despise the word sorry? It’s the one word concocted to rid people of the guilt of anything that they may have done. I mean, I could stamp on a foot, intentionally or otherwise, say “ sorry”  and presume that I’ve done my bit. It’s a little too easy, don’t you think?

Well, surprisingly I’ve come to realise that there’s a phrase that hurts more than a sorry. It goes “did I hurt you?”. Abhijit said these exact words! I’ve no idea what was he expecting as an answer to this one. He cannot be naive enough to not know that he has caused hurt that will take forever to heal. But the usage of these words exonerates him from whatever he did. Trust me, every nerve in my brain was itching to yell that it aches more than anything ever can. But what could I tell him? I did ask him how does it matter. But he said that it just does, because he apparently cares for me. If it were to happen ever again I’d tell him that if he really did care for me, he could have at least given me a chance. A lie, if nothing else. Or if I’m asking for too much by asking him to notice on his own accord that it hurts, could he at least get me a closure!

This is karma, I guess. All those guys who allegedly pined for me, but I thought of them to be too childish; I guess Abhijit thinks I’m too childish too. Though he may not realise that it is him, his presence that makes me glee like a little girl.

If one were to look at it from afar, this shouldn’t matter much. He made the last 2 years the most pleasant by just being himself. He gave me dreams that I’d never forget. He made me believe that good things can happen; that being optimistic isn’t so bad after all. Wait, it does sound a little oxymoronic now, now that I’ll never be able to believe good things can happen. I’m sure this is premature, but I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to love again. And if I ever do, I’m sure I’ll never be able to love anyone the way I did him. For he did not complete me, in the quintessential sense of speaking. He came and saw that I was broken, he helped me in putting it together, and he walked out, moments before gluing it all together.
I’m sure I’ll heal. I’ve healed through much worse. But I never wanted to heal through this.

She sobbed a lot, throughout this log. She had developed this habit of dreaming that he’s around her, this would bring her to smile even when she did not want to. At least till now. In half a hope that he’d actually regret saying those things and he’d come to her and hug her so tight that she’d forget anything ever happened, she ran her eyes around the room. He wasn’t there.
Mandira did not save the tape. She did not want to retain this memory. She knew she won’t ever forget him, or the way he just cut her off, but putting that on the tape would imply sealing the memory and framing it, then allowing the memory to nurture and eventually consume her. She never wanted to have one person have so much control over her. She felt helpless. And every atom of this helplessness made her angry. Angry because she knew she couldn’t blame Abhijit, but she couldn’t blame herself either.
She barely managed to erase the tape and lock the room and walk out.

There she sat, edge of a park bench. Sore eyes, quivering lips and a face so pale, it would put mannequins to shame. A lot of footsteps walked past her, some even ran. To her face, all of these were mere invalid noises and motions. She sat there for eternity, until it seemed like she was just an extension to the bench itself. Had she not gravity pull her into the ground and cried her eyes out, the people may have actually believed the extension theory.

I was there that day. The day it all happened. Even today, when I go to the park sometimes, I believe I still see that haggard look on an imaginary figure sitting quietly; albeit ready to explode any moment.

A subtle addiction (water)

I judge people a lot. Quite often, I believe that these judgements are more a work of fiction than that of philosophy. It is a little more satisfying that way. There is a person I can't stop thinking about. I tell myself a lot that I do not want to write about him. There are various reasons for it, but I assume that should be reserved for another day.

For now, I just think I would let myself bask in the satisfaction of wording the thoughts I have collated. A part of me still can't believe I am grinning this minute. Another part of me says, "give it time".
I've allowed myself indulge in a variety of vices. Far too many and far too often. Quite often the reason for the same has been the quest for my share of sanity / peace. However, this little vice, is way more addictive than I would have ever thought.

He's a lot like water, I believe. I'd like to call him so. He is just as basic and transparent; just as calm and yet, just as unforgiving. He could be passionate, he could be fierce, he could be all that I wish he were. There are moments one can feel that he shows you the glimpse of what it could be, only to tarnish (read: destroy beyond recognition) your borders of content. And once the placid reality seems but an illusion, he resorts to being a live display of all that once was.
His absence would take a lot time to get used to; not that it matters, but to me it doesn't even seem practical to be able to get used to it.

He could soothe me or drown me, the poise would not have to be tampered with. There was a time he revealed that he could eliminate people from memory, only the ones that rightly deserve so. I could see a part of me running to each corner of the planet and hopping with the joy of being a confidant, the one to who he spoke his heart and his salient quirks, his fond memories and scariest fears. If one was around, one would notice the imaginary fireworks.
..... Yet, there was this other and the larger part of me (a.k.a. the wimpy little kid), who was running to every corner of the planet to find a nook where she could hide from the fear of being the eliminated.

He's a one that is essential, often dismissed as something ordinary. If you ask me, I cannot fathom how all humans pass by him everyday, living their mundane chores and not be astonished by all that is him.
If them all could see what I do right now, you'd realize his relevance that is par ordinaire. I don't think he realizes how relevant he can be. I don't think anyone does. The art of making sense out of chaos, a feat that not many people could notice (only because they could not believe it existed, ah! little did they know!), a feat that he has remarkably mastered but is only put to display at will.. it makes him a vice that I wish I was never acquainted to; given the fact that now that I know him, the days I've spent not knowing him only seem partially sensible.

He, often, makes you feel at ease. Pours himself into your stream of thought and identifies the segment that needed it the most. Before you even realize, he would have helped you sustain and he'd be gone. One could guess that he did not do it intentionally. Probably to him, he just did what he is innately meant to.

He'd easily be my kryptonite without me wishing for it. (Well, kryptonite is an over-statement. But what do you call the element that you love to belong to, but want to stay away from and yet, you can't do either). When you categorize him as one, you'd notice that he is just a basic element. It is only ironical that the very "basic-ness" of him is empowering. To add to the metaphor, if you've ever seen anything on fire, you'd know that it is the initial droplets of water that combust into it, but in a very subtle manner, eat into its ferociousness. Add a little more water, the fire would succumb to the force of the calm. All surplus of water, poured thereafter, is but unnecessary and exists only for the sake of it. To derive an adequate simile, he is just as much water that was ever needed to put the fire to shame.

He, who one would not dream to emulate; for he flows to the past most driven by what he calls passion but seems gravity to most. He cares for the invalids, he notices what one believes to be petty. He has an eye for detail that most chose to avoid. In ways more than one, he is around everything he would wish to be, as well as everything he could live without. He intends to devote his might to correct all that is inappropriate. But time and tide aren't allowed to wait, are they?

In the essence of it, he is very simple. One wouldn't need a manual to know how to work with him. Just like he wouldn't need a manual / guideline to see anyone like he knows their most deepest fears, desires, and everything else that defines. Every time I see him, I do not know if I should notice the depth (and the dark) in his eyes or the smile that could light the town. It is just as paradoxical as it is calming.

I have never struggled for words as much as I do to conclude this. I would want to conclude this piece with a genuine equivalent of him (obviously, tantamount to water). But he is all that water can be - a drizzle, a rain or a hurricane. It will only depend on how scorched one is as a landscape.

When I think of it, believe the only apt way to conclude this would be to leave it without an end, just like unrequited love, with the possibility of an endless potential. In a lot of ways, I believe this is it.

Random rants

I'd read a poem once, long long ago. Don't really remember it all; but what it said could be loosely translated to mean that until the lions learn how to write, the hunter shall always be glorified, braver and also triumphant. In other words, when we hear / read something we know of only one side of the story. More often than not, the truth escapes our attention solely because we did not try too hard to validate facts.

The above snippet of information was (as is fondly called of late) a disclaimer to the fact that all of what you read below is my version of truth.

So here goes nothing..

I don't publish all of what I write. That's because I'm scared of people judging me. I know everyone judges anyway; but I'd rather not fuel the fire. There are times I think of things and then just cap them out because I'm too scared of putting that thought out in writing, out there just public and at times even my own scrutiny.

There's this person (about whom there would be more to come subsequently) who keeps telling me that I should write more. I'm not sure if he's only being nice or he really likes my writing or he enjoys the subtlest of signs of masochism in what I write. But he does say it well. I guess that's my motivation to write more often of late.
I know one thing for sure, though. I cannot be just writing. I need to do something more rewarding. I'm probably using a loose term here. When I say rewarding, I mean something with a timeline. Unless I've a timeline for something I tend to re-visit my work or lay it off until the last minute.

However there is this other reason why I will be terrible at writing. People.

The point is that the people wish to be able to understand what they read. When I write, I connect with me, my thoughts or views so much that I (with a reasonable logic) can decipher what I mean. I do proof read my pieces a few days later (except this one), just to confirm that my piece would make sense to any independent person. However, I miss one point. Reason is not automatic. There are individuals who don't see my point of view even after explicitly mentioning it. I've been through this multiple times.

For instance, what I was trying to say in "the victim" was that love is a luxury that one tends to get used to (I do not agree to it anymore, however .. till I hadn't really seen love in such close proximity, that's what I thought and if one looks around this fact remains true for most people). When people are in love they start accepting the significant other with all their flaws and even if flaws are all that remain at their disposal, they cannot feel any emotion other than love. Yes, it's complicated. Sometimes I don't realise which version of love do I feel is true. And then there are other times when I don't even know if I realise what being in love means. Recently, I was on the edge of falling in love. I contained myself. But wouldn't they say that if you could contain yourself, it never was love in the first place. Wait, I'm not sure if I've contained myself at all. Guess this is something I should think of maybe a few months hence. The topic at hand though .. back to the victim. It was amazing how people never viewed it as a complicated version of love. In honesty, other than the invalids, no one could proceed beyond the emotions that flew into them when they read about Maya. On the face of it, it is depressing (I get that, duh). But why wouldn't anyone appreciate the eccentricity of the emotion so widely known as love. It is wrong to love the person who brings you nothing but tears. But it's a choice she's entitled to make. Don't we all do things that don't make sense in the true sense of the term to people in general but probably is a source of peace otherwise, even if so just to one person!

I think I was a little hurt how not one person could see how attached I was to her. The problem remains that no one can see that. And in my head, I still think it's explicitly there.
Here comes a theory a cousin once explained to me (oh! The amount of distasteful memories I have of the individual. Just for the record, he's one of the top 5 reasons why I cannot trust good things can happen).
Anywho. The theory says that if someone is asleep you can wake him / her up. If someone, however, is pretending to sleep, you can't. In other words, when one denies reason, one can disprove gravity. It is that simple.

Oh yes! However, I do overcome my cowardice and publish a lot of stuff because sometimes, it's a good idea to gain perspective on the words I choose to express my point of view. Thus far, I've sucked. But, hey! It's worth trying.

Denial.

I like Denial.

I have been told I am in the denial mode perpetually. And there is a reason why I like it.

I was watching this episode of house the other day. It said that following are the five stages of death: Anger, denial, bargain, depression, acceptance. Pretty much applied to anything in life in general, I'd say.

Hey! Don't judge me, not yet, not just for this. There is a reason why I like denial. And obviously, I'll explain here why..

I've been told that anger doesn't particularly help. Though, I'd beg to differ most often, but for the purpose of proving this point, let's say it doesn't. Me getting angry at others won't help me, neither would it change others. So I try not to get angry. Though, like a lot of other things, I do fail miserably at that attempt.
(If I might add, I do find anger therapeutic. It may not change the circumstances, events, environment or the perpetrator of misfortune. But it does help cleanse the frustration. Which, in a way, does help. However, I get too attached to thing, people, or my impression of these things, and people. And I do have a terribly hard time letting go. When I am angry, it is a sign of hope. Hope that things would change eventually or rather the imminent change is undone. The times that I don't get angry, well, that's when I pretend that I have given up. That, my friend, is me being a hypocrite. Trust me, every time I say that I have given up, I am only looking for a reassurance that I need not. I don't like being a hypocrite, so I attach insane amount of worldly logic to it; which, basically, is me trying to con myself into believing something that I don't intend to. Ever.)

Sigh! Random rants! Guess I am in that zone again.

Where were we?
Yeah, I try not to get angry, but I do. But it is pointless. Ergo, not helpful. Therefore, not the state one would want to be in. Not me, at least.

Stage 2: Since this is the conclusion (in a weird way, funny even). Let's park that for the last.

Stage 3: Bargain.
Ok. Here's the deal. Humans, whatever number of them that I do know, bargaining is lying. To who, is a matter of perspective. For instance, the subject of a few of my prose, was in love. Man! Was it adorable! He wrote letters, he did all the stupid things one wouldn't admit to doing otherwise. But then when it all went south, we would spend hours talking where I'd convince him that it still remains to be the best thing that ever happened to him and then there were times when I told him to let go and he'd convince himself and me that if this won't work, nothing ever shall. We were both right in our days. But the bargain, not only was it highly annoying, it was also wrong.
Primarily because we were both trying to accommodate the facts of the circumstances into the brackets of truth and myth alike. Both were trying to pretend to be wise. Both were trying to solve a situation, initially, but thereafter, both were only trying to prove oneself right. A petty thing called logic ceased to matter after a point of time.
To an extent bargaining may be constructive. But beyond a point, bargaining is an act of lying to oneself that what is not particularly your own can be clung to. It is, if nothing else, a way of pretending that if you scream something loudly enough and frequently enough, it'll become true.

Unfortunately enough, I have a pretty black - and - white impression of truth. If you need to convince anyone of your version of truth, it ain't worth it. Hence, not my favorite stage.

Stage 4: Depression

Though I keep saying things to the contrary pretty often, I am not particularly a depressing person. I listen to sad / painful music. Albeit some would even consider it soulful. I notice the sad in a situation before the glad. I, do, hold grudges against myself for trusting a few people, loving a few people and not letting go of things. Yes. Despite all of that. I am not a depressing person. When i come to think of it, I am but a child who's been forced to grow up in a world of haughty people who may not be grown up themselves, but insist that I should be. And naive that I am, under the peer pressure of needing to fit in and under the intense desire for acceptance / approval, I caved.
You know, I don't really expect much of people. I only need petty things to be happy. But I tell people that I am depressed, only so as to set the expectations low. Because, if they know that I can be happy, they will expect me to be the face of sunshine happy people are. And given the fact that I can get hurt just as easily as I can be happy, it becomes increasingly difficult to be what they expect you to be. (Yes! A lesson I learnt the hard way. You don't get it, eh? I am happy for you).
If you ask me, it is not fair to be depressed over anything. If it was to happen, it'd have. Such is life. But I guess, it'd be easier to sulk over something than it would be to get over it. So, let's just say it is a little pointless, shall we?

Stage 5: Acceptance.
Isn't this stage tantamount to conceding defeat? Accepting what you did not want to in the first place. How I can let myself stoop to this level! I am but a free spirit.
What I believe stands out about me or segregates me from the ordinary is that in a world of stones, I know that I am the glass. I tricked people for a while by being a mirror, but I guess that was such preposterous a try that I fell flat, probably even cracked myself a bit. But now, that I have resorted to being the glass, I am not allowing myself to accept anything. So this stage was never an option anyway.


There. We have dealt with all stages. All but one.

There was a movie I once saw. The girl said that she was lying to herself when she said that she had a happy life. But she was certain that she wanted to continue lying. Because that is the only way she can be happy. I was dumb at first. But when you think of it, it is deep.
I like that. I probably live a dream. But I'd rather not be woken up. I choose to live in the manner which pleases me the most. Not you, not anyone else. Me.
It is a little surprising how I can be that narcissistic. But that is something all humans are, at some level. So I am allowing myself this one little vice. It may be a lie. But I will cling to it if that is what it takes to be happy. A part of me tells me that it is unlike me. But there is this other part of me, that screams, why not!

Though one would wonder, if it really is happiness if you know it won't last for long. In my defense, one could also put forth an argument that no form of happiness, or even love, has - thus far - known to last long.
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One of those that I found unraveling when I ransacked my bag.

See you around!