Bruised Lips.

January 24, 2014 § 15 Comments

There was a strange calmness
i felt as i gazed into the
night sky, when you’d asked me
to. It killed all my demons
momentarily, as i you ran
your slender fingers through
my hair.
All thoughts of the world were
dumped into darkness
as you took me in your arms.
My insecurities and fears
vanished as you touched me
at places I’d long forgotten
existed inside of me.
A small portal of joy
opened up as you kissed
these parched lips and gave
me memories, with bruised lips.

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On heartbreak.

January 11, 2014 § 8 Comments

The thing about heartbreaks is that they happen silently. You don’t and won’t hear a heart breaking. It just, breaks. Shatters. In a way that it gets impossible to even remember that there was once a time when it wasn’t broken.

All my life I’ve been trying to name this sinking feeling. The kind that puts a huge boulder on your chest. I’ve understood what exactly it is, now.
A heart weighs a lot more when it splits in two. Hence, the sinking feeling.

I’ve wondered if it’s possible to stay in love after having your heart broken. Apparently it is. When it’s the unrequited kind. You know, selfless and all. No matter how hard the heart breaks, you don’t fall out of love if you fall in it, once. Especially, when you’ve created a life of your own in the castle that you built in the air, with the beloved.

Sure you’re human. So you can cut yourself some slack and stay drenched in sorrow. In grief. In pain.
I’ve come to realize that there are two ways of dealing with grief. Either you take it all in at one go, like consuming poison. Instant death. Or, you take it in, in bits and pieces. Like smoking a cigarette, that burns your insides everyday.

Do you prefer the poison or would you take a drag from this cigarette I’ve been smoking?

Perceptions.

January 5, 2014 § 17 Comments

My idea of relationships has been formed on the basis of long discussions with friends, observing some and then certain realizations that come while you’re growing up.

There isn’t anything such as moving on, if you’ve been in love. In the sense that you just don’t get over someone you’ve been romantically in love with. You just let other people in and fill up that crazy little void in your life. If it IS indeed love, that is.

I don’t know how you would describe love. But how I see it is that it’s that phase where you’re crazy about someone. Where all you want is the beloved’s happiness. Where you’re ready to fight the whole world for the silly grin on their face. Where you lose your essence in them, and become who they are. Where physical boundaries or distances are just a state of mind. Where his breath becomes music to your ears, his words poetry. Where you love everything that the beloved loves, no questions asked. That space, I call love.

However, the sad part of love is that it does require reciprocation. No matter how selfless a lover you are, you do long for arms to hold you on some nights and tell you that you don’t necessarily have to do it all by yourself.

Another part I’ve understood is that the part of you with which you love someone becomes unavailable for the rest of the world, for the rest of your life.
Think of it like building a castle in the air. Now if you put your bricks in it by investing all your emotions, and the beloved doesn’t put his bricks; it’s your castle. It’s not “our” castle. Which means that those bricks in that castle of yours are used up. You can’t use them with another person.
But here’s the deal: You can never run out of bricks. Sure you might have lesser bricks compared to the previous castles, but you’ll always have some more.

What would you do?
Build castles in the air with the beloved without a base, or a mundane house with someone else on the ground?

Guest Post: Shakti Shetty.

January 3, 2014 § 8 Comments

OF PENS AND KEYS

If you can write 25 lines without feeling a hint of discomfort in your knuckles, you’re awesome. Your handwriting—good or worse—be damned! No joke. There’s a reason to it too. You haven’t been destroyed by QWERTY. Yet. And that should be a matter of pride even if you’re not Murakami or Rowling or Pamuk. You see, over the past few years, our literal realities have been going through a paradigm shift. As a result of which, desktop has become a common noun and typing, commoner. Pen doesn’t seem as mighty as it once used to. Keys have taken its place; at least in the urban scenario.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Nowadays, i barely let a pen point attempt paragraphs on paper. It’s usually words or short sentences, if not plain signatures.  With such a discouraging backdrop, what happens to the good old custom of writing long epistles? With telegram honorably extinct, what’s the future of exchanging hand-written letters? Cultivating pen pals while we are it? Postcards, someone? Love letters, huh? Will they survive? By any measure of chance, yes is the answer. The real question is a bit different though: what about you? It’s not like the whole world has suddenly turned against the poor postman. The street dogs continue to chase him while people in the neighbourhood can’t wait to welcome him without offering a glass of water. So things aren’t evolving THAT phenomenally. People exchange e-mails and everything is more or less fine. After all, everybody appears proud to have the same print-perfect handwriting.

So, the question keeps coming back to you. Your skills and your personal touch. When was the last time you wrote someone a letter filled with cancellations and food marks? Whom are you planning to send one in spite of having each other’s e-mail IDs? Holding a page with words meant for you can certainly beat a lot of in its category. Besides, it’s never too late. Yes, Gandhi was right. Our handwriting and gymnastics indeed stay with us forever. But it’s OK. You’re not writing a medical prescription. The person on the other end will get what you’re trying to say. Hopefully.

Perhaps it’s not about the choice available but about doing something which we once used to. Before technology made time invaluable and emotions, redundant. If you sit down to quantify the amount of time one invests in browsing and posting comments on social media that will never be responded with a reply, it becomes stark obvious that we’re simply wasting the power of fingertips. Shouldn’t that be diverted towards those who’d be happy to really ‘hear’ from you… for a change? By any yardstick, that’d be better than having an imaginary friend/acquaintance who never writes back to you.

About the Author:

Shakti is this really great guy i know from Twitter. He does amazing wordplay. And ladies if you thought that foreplay is better than wordplay, that’s because you haven’t read him yet. No exaggeration meant, whatsoever.

Go read his blog. And i challenge you, you won’t regret it a bit.

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