Guest Post: Tanzila.

December 28, 2013 § 9 Comments

THE IMPERFECT GODDESS

I met a goddess when I went walking around today. I saw her sitting all pensive and looking at people around her with sadness. I asked her why. She said she didn’t want to be a goddess anymore. It was too much responsibility.

 

I asked her about the fun she would have with so many people worshiping her. Didn’t it give her a high to have people revere her?

 

She scoffed at me and said no one asked her before making her a goddess. No one asked her if she ever wanted to sin but just repeated that she was pure. She wanted love and passion, all she got was piety

 

She said she was tired of the bells in her temple. Because they awakened her from her slumber and she liked to sleep late in the morning. But the people, they came calling with a prayer on their lips.

 

No one came and told her about their escapades. They always came and told her how sad they were that they had sinned. They did not know how lucky they were to lead a normal life.

 

She wished she hid behind a tree holding hands with someone and felt the nervousness of first love. She wished she could dress up and try to be herself.

 

All she got was shiny trashy tacky garb every festival, so not her style. But then goddesses have an image to upkeep she was told. She wished she could take a hammer and break that image along with the priest’s head who looked at her curves with lust when he thought no one was looking.

 

She told me she didn’t want flowers at her feet or marigold garlands around her neck. She wanted a bed of jasmine and roses and she wanted to lay there with someone. That was the worship she wanted.

 

Then she giggled and said she wouldn’t mind her toes being sucked. She had heard it was a new age sexy thing. Better than worshippers falling at her feet.

 

I was running late so she told me that maybe some other day she could tell the world about the fantasies in her head. Till then I could tell the world that she was an imperfect goddess.

 

(goddess name withheld on request)

 

About the author:

Tanzila is this amazing person i know from Twitter. We share a lot more than our ideologies when we talk. Not only is she an amazing poetess and writer, she has the best food sense!

You’ll fall in love with her works. Go read ’em here.

IMG-20131206-WA0011

Ninety two.

December 27, 2013 § 9 Comments

So I turned ninety two today. God, that’s a lot of age in one life no?
I finally feel old and tired and worn out. Finally. It has more to do with the things inside my head, than my physical body.

I’ve always known that I’m not just my body. That I’m much more than that. Call it my soul, aatma or the life force; I have been able to distinguish it from this stale and decaying body.
Sure I had my phases like every other human being, where all my knowledge went down the drain. But overall, I knew myself while I was still alive.

Call it His Grace, or my karma but I saw all that I had to see. From a loving marriage to children who worshipped me. From amazing grandchildren to beautiful great grandchildren. What else would someone want? I think I’ve had a fulfilling life. The kind where I was content, deep down. Where I loved and I was loved. Where I always felt secure and comfortable.

Phew! Ninety two is not just a number. It’s a long life.
And I’m only glad I lived it the best I could.

P.S. I recently lost my grandmother. She was turning 92 today, on the 27th of December. Had she been alive, she’d have probably been feeling this. Or something close to this.
I was technically married to her. Love makes you do crazy things!

image

Guest Post: Suruchi Arora.

December 19, 2013 § 4 Comments

Dear Girl nursing a broken heart,
“Sometimes you just have to erase the messages, delete the numbers and move on. You don’t have to forget who that person was to you; only accept that he isn’t that person anymore.”
You know world over, genders alike, there is one disease that is slyly killing vulnerable souls even of the strongest of exteriors-heart breaks. The higher brains need to develop some vaccinations or immunity from heartaches instead of spending time, resources and intelligence on things like bacteria and atoms. Meh! The world is equipped to handle itself-we collapse miserably when it comes to managing the inner void, desires and unrequited love.
Everyone may smugly think they are above it-no sir, you are not and definitely not you ma’am. You mistake tumbling for love and you’ve just not fallen still how you should. We all are likely to get enslaved, with or without our knowledge or permission. The higher you fall in fantasy of someone, the lower you sink in depths of despair after having lost him or her. Love in the extremes is really what and how love should be and hence the most difficult to bear by your insides whichever side the see-saw dips. Even when at its brightest and most passionate, it burns you yet with restlessness!
It is not the moving-on part which is difficult-it is the fact that you keep turning back to see if there are any remnants of what you sowed or has the harvest been burnt beyond recognition. You can close your eyes to the things you don’t want to see but how does one close the heart to stop it from feeling what you don’t want to? Yes, it is that tough and you are not alone my pretty one in feeling thus.
It is sad when the people you know become the people you knew. It is not so impossible to comprehend the bafflement of how you spend hours with someone discussing life as though he was a fabric of it and suddenly he gets covered in a veil that you find difficult to pierce through or reach out to, however you squint your eyes and fuck your brains for it. With every deep breath you take to puff yourself up with courage, you know something inside always crumbles. You wait for him to realize what he gave up on and repent while the wait slowly withers you within.
Love is like that-sweetest when it is lifting you up and cruelest when it throws you with a thud. You wish he chokes on the words when he says “I love you” to another girl. What makes you most generous, can very well turn you most heartless-for it robs you of all emotions. And when someone leaves without a reason, it becomes a sore point and pull for life, a point of no return.
People say that the most painful thing in love is losing someone whom you loved; not really-the painful part begins when you realize that you lost yourself in the process. The ache culminates into anger, frustration, regret and hopelessness borne out of the doubt and that tormenting, looming question-why did you allow yourself and your happiness to be dependent on one person?
Love stories that do not wrap up in a “happily ever after” are the strongest. It is perhaps because they leave us with many ‘what-ifs’ that you turn and toss over despite being on the most comfortable of beds that life may offer. We crave to hear the truth…Was that the truth when you said you loved me as if there was no other human filling up the earth or is this the truth when you choose to look through me like I am unwanted or non-existent?
Girl, do you hear Beyonce play in the backdrop while I talk to you? “You are the only one I wish I could forget and the only one I love to not forgive. You’re everything I thought you never were and nothing like I thought you could have been….” Beyonce is a wise girl. Love can make or break, give or take, mourn and elate. Such an oxymoron!
So now that you are ruined, how do you help you? Talking does the trick-not to someone else per se but to yourself. The brain may be the smartest of all organs but silliest when it comes to being convinced and especially of an argument born in itself. Cry a river-build a bridge-get over it. Tears perhaps were watery by default for a reason-they cleanse as they drain. Don’t fight them, don’t resist the closure for therein might lie the key. Let him know how you feel now-for if he wanted to hear how you felt when he tingled your body with mere words, he ought to know how he makes it shudder too.
You have to remind yourself that he may continue to live in your heart but there was no way, he could have lived in your life. And until you are broken, you don’t know what you are made of. Collect the pieces and start as a whole again. Try not to remember half the things you will never forget.  The best way to ensure you don’t go treading back on his path again, is to erase the footprints you walked along with and uproot the milestones that lure you to digress again.
It is often seen that people jump into one relationship from another. It is not because they are fickle-it is the best way to nurse the wound of the organ which was meant to just pump blood but does everything unspecified instead. A new muse for the broken heart is as necessary as new strings for a guitar that loses its rhythm. It helps you to not keep running back to the one person you need to walk away from. 
 
So keep the mind alert and heart open to allow the one who suits your fancy again but be patient for comparisons would set in and it would be a while before you find someone interesting again. But then you will-that’s how we are conceptualized. You tend to find things that attract you and the things that attract you tend to somehow reach to you.
Also vomit the anger and pain on someone who is ready to take that shit from you-there always is. Be proud of every blow made at your heart for it left you with lessons that made you stronger and wiser for future. And remember you can never make the same mistake twice, the next time it will show a choice. You can never be “just good friends” with someone you loved once-the feelings fade with time or injury, but they never die if they truly lived when they did. So don’t look to be friends, accept the anonymity.
Realize that what is dead must be buried before it deforms to something ghastly. Realize that you can live without him-his first mistake was leaving you and then now, allowing you to bring to fruition that you can live without him. The very people who said they would never hurt you are the very those who take your heart to task. Guard yourself and your self respect. Don’t dismiss it in the name of pride-respect it in the name of your individuality. Anything that does not make us happy has no right to live even in the periphery of our existence.
It will hurt for a first few weeks, maybe even months but then life moves on, love learns to unlearn and heart aspires to mend and fend for itself again.
I know dear girl, it seems the end of the world for you fear you won’t find anyone this perfect again. His perfection was an illusion-a pedestal where YOU raised him to for nobody is perfect and that’s what he should become-a nobody. Learn to unlearn, grieve to rejoice, rise again to stamp down-chin up and smile to scare the doubts away and drag yourself out of the bottomless pit. There are many who deserve you in all your glory so gather it before you lose the sunshine.
And then keep the faith-Love does not hurt, lovers do.
Take care and heal fast,
Yours lovingly,
Been there, seen that.
About the Author:
Suruchi is the mistress of words. She does magic when she writes. Not only her wordplay is meaningful and deep, it is hair raising beautiful. The kind you can read over and over.
Go follow her blog here, and no need to thank me. Thank her. She’s the blessing. 🙂

Guest Post: Mohita Raghav.

December 18, 2013 § 3 Comments

Etched in Aeons

In life, we always find that one person; who makes that moment of discovery seem like
a dream. They are like the surreal aspect of our forbidden dreams come to life. The
moment they enter our realm, they spread their surreality into every aspect of our
entity.

We have seen them. We have known them from eons; from the beginning of time. We
have touched them with our dream fingers. We have laid bare our souls to them already;
in an inexplicable realm of which we were the masters. We created them for ourselves in
moments, wherein we thought that we were destined to die alone. We invoked them in
rituals of our carnal fantasies. We have already slept a hundred nights in their arms and
have woken up on their spectral kisses. We have spent a million tender and vulnerable
moments with them already.

It has become hard to pinpoint that dividing line between them and reality. It has
become hard to tell whether we created them in a magical bout of imagination or they
came as an idea destined to strike us. It is nearly impossible to delineate whether we
morphed them according to our whims or we metamorphosed according to them; to
become their’s.

Lines smudged a long time back.

We committed ourselves to the fantasy and damned ourselves to a long phase of
hermit-like searching until we realized the futility of it all. We, then, pulled ourselves
together and consoled ourselves that such people only existed in fantasies…
Until they walk into our real lives; in flesh and blood, better than we sculpted them in
dreams.

What, then, can be done?

I could not decide. I was transfixed, looking at him with a mindfloating upon
numbness like a water-baby.

He was sitting alone on a table; with a half-finished sandwich, coffee mug and an
open pocket-diary. He was bent over his laptop, his long fingers flying over the
keyboard.

I stood upon the threshold of disbelief and panic. Already vulnerable to him.
Defenceless. Thrilled and flabbergasted altogether. I wanted to run away. I wanted
to run to him. I wanted to brand him with a kiss. I wanted to hide. In a bout of
seemingly sane self-defense, I even wanted to kill him.

It was at this moment when, prompted by something palpable but unseen, he raised
his eyes to look at me. And smiled a knowing smile. As if he had been waiting too. As
if he knew we will meet.

It was at this moment that all avenues of escape closed faster than they’d
materialized…

And I was lost.

About the Author:

Mohita is a wonderful person I know from Twitter. She writes stuff that you ave to read more than once, so you can grasp it. So you can absorb it.

Read her blog here. I insist.

Guest post: Brandon Grimes.

December 16, 2013 § 1 Comment

Move the Moon

We use to get along use to see each other, feed each other

now we trying to defeat each other

 

Use to envision you being my kids mother

it ain’t even the same when we greet each other

 

Can’t even look me in my eyes when we see each other

you got so much pride but you’ll soon discover

 

You messed up a good thing, u was my heart string

a new life with my new life is down the drain

 

I put u on a pedestal I never did with a girl,

I’d move the move the moon just to give you the world

 

About the Author:

Brandon Grimes is a free-lance writer and avid poetry fanatic. He writes short stories, poems, top 10 posts for various niche industries across the country.

 

Flow.

December 5, 2013 § 4 Comments

They were in his car, kissing. It was a late August evening. They’d managed to find a secluded place in the otherwise crowded city. Somewhere they could express what was bursting inside them, in the form of hormones or love.

“Do you have any idea what are we doing?”, she asked him as he kissed her nape.

He stopped.
He looked into her eyes and said, “No, but I’m going with the flow. Do you want me to go with the flow?”

That very instant the radio played a Pink Floyd melody.
The next moment, she got naked.

Lover’s.

December 2, 2013 § 6 Comments

When you touched my face with both your hands
When I caressed your hair with my fingers
When our bodies felt as one
And we looked at each other
In an all together different light.

That’s what has made our evenings memorable
The beauty of twilight
And how we became more than friends
We became lovers.

Where Am I?

You are currently viewing the archives for December, 2013 at Rants..

%d bloggers like this: