Can you, can anyone stop loving a person at any point of time? Like, “I am done, I don’t like this person anymore?”
Whoever it is, a friend, a lover, a teacher, one can never unlove. One can never tell oneself to not feel for someone.
And moving on? We just stop expecting out of people. Stop waiting. Quit all our hopes and accept the way we want someone might just remain a fantasy.
We don’t stop loving. We stop expecting any scenario with the person, anything together.
That’s how we move on!
It is easy to be tired and fall asleep the moment one hits the bed.
Difficult is no sleep, and the hands free; nothing to hold. The utter need of having something to fill the gap up and be there.
The utter reminder of a missing someone.
Of the missing beloved!
Beloved, would you ever be mine?
And for that matter, what is mine?
What would you do, or we do, that makes you mine. And me yours?
What kind of abstract thought is this? This being mine and yours?
Neither of us can possess each other and yet I am yearning for belonging.
Would a name tag do?
But I never wanted to change my name. Neither would I.
There is nothing like my name and your name together in my mind and yet I want to belong to you somehow.
What do I do?
Have I told you how I have fantasized about our kids? The adopted ones?
Nah, I didn’t adopt multiple kids. Just one. With you.
Mother and father.
And he stays with me on vacations. With you rest of the time…
Sometimes we all spend time together. Like a month or so.
I convince you to stay and school him from my place. We stay a year together…
I forgot to write about this. I told you about the letters, didn’t I?
Ah! Beloved… What have you done to make me ready to leave behind everything?
What is it that I can do away with everything in this moment?
Sometimes I wonder:
If the situation stayed
And I were replaced by her
Would you react the same?
Have you ever felt like the skies came crashing onto you? Like everything just went haywire? Like everything that one had planned was splashed with water and now all the color, the ink, the plans are washed out? Like everything that ever mattered no more exists?
What does one do? How does one fix the skies? How to put the broken pieces up there again? What glue to use? Would the pieces stick to each other like before? Would the glue be strong enough to prevent it from falling again? Would this pain be just once in a lifetime experience? Could it be?
And on top of everything, there are these people called writers. Overtly emotional. Always on the verge of tears. Broken with the slightest touch and hurt by a pinprick. What do such people do? Where do they find their solace, their peace? Is there anything like peace for them?
Is there solace?
We are told that the ladies who are the easiest to look after are the most blessed.
The question remains, do we treat them as the blessings that they are said to be? Do we treat them as they should be?
Or do we, because of their low maintenance, just neglect their needs?
Because they do not make a fuss and create havoc every time their needs or wishes are not fulfilled, do we overlook their needs? The things that make them happy? The subtle forms of care and love that could overjoy them?
Do we forget doing the things we would for other people because they might just start throwing things in our face? And because these ladies make no such nuisances, do we just ignore them? Take them for granted?
Or for that matter, any person who does not explicitly counter our ways, or do not make extravagant demands, do we take all such people for granted?
Planning things, eating out, conversations, or anything for that matter, any plan, we never consider these “low maintenance, considerate” people.
Is this what someone’s consideration is worth? Is this how they should be treated?
Or are we waiting for them to snap and move away to start looking at them and looking out for them? Or caring for them? And if we do, would it be what keeps them with us? Happy and content?
Or would they have moved too far before we realize they have given up on us?
This fragrance of itr
That fills the air
Whenever I open my bag!
A pretty notorious way
Of reminding someone
And of your absence too…
I could hear his tormented voice
its breaking into a wail
pain, anguish, agony
Innocence; questions in eyes
frantic attempts in sheer fear
Giving in, I console
Brazen, insensitive hope
blinded by some positivity
His plans are the pest
there’s prosperity even in the loss
My audacity, I forget
his pain wasn’t some easy trial
death staring him in the eye
The dread of losing his father!
I had someday, against nature
taken that one step; dreaded
I knew all that could go wrong
Nevertheless, I found the courage
for once to risk it all
the reward too lucrative
for once, vulnerability ceased
A surge of courage, strength
a step towards the dreaded journey
Fear, excitement, adrenaline
How does it sound?
Ever witnessed flight of a bird
a broken wing, nearing death?
It breaks into flight, not merely for its sake,
to escape… Alas!
Why didn’t it know its fate?
the flight of a broken wing
How far could courage take
or service of a fake smile?
I repeatedly ask myself
“For how long?”
Ek shaam ke sarhane pe
Ek khwahish rakh kar bhool gayee
Thandi si ek shaam ka aalam
Ek tum, ek mai, ek tanhayee