Coloured Stones

This path of the past

Strewn with rocks and stones

Reminders of past hurts

Bloodied and discarded.

I’ll collect these rocks one by one

Walk back the path whole

And paint the stones afresh

With blues and greens and gold.

I’ll bring these stones with me on the journey I undertake

Not as baggage of a haunting past

But as souvenirs for the time ahead

Like travellers have keepsakes – to remind

Them of places they have been,

I’ll keep these painted stones –

Reminders of what was and what could’ve been.

And when I encounter another traveller,

With stones marking their path,

I’ll help them repaint their past,

Just like I did my own.

No

He asked me to dance today and I said no.

I used to dance with agility, dance with grace,

But now my bones have started to ache.

Icy heart and creaky limbs,

Won’t shake the darkness away.

So I won’t move my body today.

Today is not a dancing day.

He asked me to sing today and I said no.

My voice is sweet and my throat is warm,

But I refuse to sing ‘cause something’s wrong.

My throat is gulping down a ball of hate

And my tongue leaves me with a bitter aftertaste.

So I won’t open my mouth today.

Today is not a singing day.

He asked me to love today and I said no.

Love needs giving, and I had nothing to offer.

So I offered him my body instead.

He said it wasn’t enough,

He said he wanted more.

But my heart refuses to feel today.

Today is not a loving day.

He asked me to leave today,

I had a bag packed the whole way.

Image Credit: All my bags are packed by Conceptual Miracles

An Ode to my Bra

You padded black beauty, my fashionable friend du jour,
My prison of choice,
You black lace beauty, my object of pillowy comfort,
No underwire, criss-crossing straps, and a velvet touch,
Just seductive enough, but not too much,
Protecting the two brown circles of my modesty,
Black cloth hiding scars and marks of the past.
“Keep the bra on” I tell them,
Hiding my vulnerability behind the lacy flowers of sexuality.

Then C cup became D cup, and I thought I’d lost you.
Lost you to the unrelenting passage of time and my growing body.
You would no longer be my friend in need, my comfy confidante,
You would become an object of desire, of envy,
Hiding in plain sight in my closet, a mocking motivation to reduce my size.
So I avoided you for months, as one does in friendships and relationships,
Postponing the inevitable breakup.
Until one day, I could wait no more.
And so I took you out, with tragedy seeping into my fleshy arms, and cupped you against me. One last time.
Until I realized you still fit. You would always fit.

The Princess and the Frog

He comes, he goes, like a gentle breeze,

He waltzes in and out of my life.

Leaving in his wake a crumbling mess;

The remains of my will and pride.

What fantastic strength must I muster

From my body, mind and soul,

To throw him out of my life

And will myself to grow whole.

Once upon a time life was a dream,

Soft voices under the moon so bright,

No false promises made and broken,

No promises made at all.

Yes I can see him for what he is,

Not a prince, just a frog in disguise,

A fantasy of ‘what could’ve been’

Dancing before my wistful eyes.

Yet I leave the doors open for him,

As I bid him hello and goodbye.

I keep hoping my frog turns into a prince,

I keep waiting for the moonlight kiss.

Pieces

We’re both in pieces, you and I.

We’ve been shattered a few times.

Sharp corners and jagged ends

Drawing blood from well-meaning hands.

But when I touch you, I don’t bleed,

For when our crooked angles meet,

Sparks fly, hot and bright,

The world is more than alright.

Oh yes, you know very well,

How you make my metal heart swell.

And though you and I hate to cuddle,

We’re two pieces of the same puzzle.

Image courtesy: Two Hearts Beat As One by alexandru1988

Heartbreak Hotel

Come spend the night

With me at Heartbreak Hotel.

A destination date, if you will,

Into the recesses of my heart.

Take my hand in yours,

We’ll enter the beast together.

This house built on bad memories,

With shabby furniture and faded walls.

But before you say yes, my love,

I must warn you of what lies ahead.

Of the scars you might see,

The screams you might hear,

Or the feelings you might feel

If you come too near.

For this hotel is haunted

By the paintings that adorn its halls

Forgiven but not forgotten,

Or maybe not forgiven at all.

And don’t be scared if you hear

The floors and walls creak at night,

I’ll give you fair warning, dear,

Before the roof comes crashing down.

Image courtesy: Golden Rose by Amy-Heartbreak

Magic

I met you that night,

When my head spun,

And the moon shone bright.

The night I cannot recall.

But for the rushed images in my head

And the swirl of emotions in my heart.

I remember walking with you

Somewhere between land and sea,

Sand crunching beneath my wet toes.

Shaky limbs, blurred vision

Yet clarity, for I was sure

I had never felt this alive before.

As the wind gathered my hair

And whistled in my ears,

Us, our conversation

It all seemed so familiar.

As if we had met like this,

Laughed like this earlier.

There are so many places

Our paths could’ve crossed

Briefly met, to part ways again

But they had to merge that night

In the soft glow of moonlight

‘Cause that night was magic.

The Date

There it is again; the fluttering in my stomach. As if a thousand caterpillars have chosen this very instant to break through their cocoons and spread their beautiful butterfly wings, and are now trying to find a way out of my dark insides. My hand moves towards my stomach and lingers for a few moments, as if to soothe my body, which is buzzing with nervous anticipation. It’s a mechanical gesture, one that I’ve been doing since many years to calm myself down. Today it doesn’t work.

I look at the wall with the patterned wallpaper. An ornate clock hangs from a nail, tilting to its left. The imperfection fascinates me. I listen to the clock’s periodic clicks. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Time seems to be moving slower than usual. I will it to move faster, it refuses. I sit back with a sigh.

I have intentionally chosen a table at the back, with my seat facing the glass door of the tiny café. This way, I’ll see him when he enters. I’ll be physically and mentally prepared. I realize I’m in my head too much. I’m overthinking this.

The waiter places a tray on my table. With a shaky hand, I take a few sips of the iced coffee I have ordered. It’s probably a bad idea to order before the other person arrives. But I needed to calm myself down. The cool glass feels slippery against my palm, which has become slimy with sweat. What if he tries to hold my hand, and thinks it’s cold and reptilian? I quickly wipe the sweat away with tissues. I want to hold the glass up against my forehead, which seems to be burning hot. Maybe I have a fever. I wonder if I should use this as an excuse to cancel. I don’t. The cold glass beckons, tiny droplets of condensed water forming along its outer later. But I’m conscious of the other people in the café, huddled around their tables, deep in conversation.  What if he walks in right now and sees me holding a glass against my face? That could happen to me. I have bad timing.

I push the glass away, and my heart begins to pound. I glance at my phone to see the time. Five minutes late. ‘Why am I getting so nervous? It’s just a date. It’s no big deal.’ I repeat this in my head a few times, till I feel my throat constricting. “I know why you’re so nervous.” I hear my bestie’s voice in my head. “You like Ethan! You like Ethan!” In my mind’s eye, I see myself blushing.

I catch the waiter’s eye, signal for a glass of water and gulp it down with growing urgency. The phone buzzes. I snatch it and read Ethan’s message.

Sorry, can’t make it tonight.

As I take a deep breath, I feel my throat clearing. Must be all the water I drank.

No problem. I was running late anyways.

His message also says some other things. I ignore them, deciding to read it properly later. As my heartbeat slowly returns to normal, I feel my body relaxing.

‘What should I do now?’ I wonder, looking around the tiny café. Going home doesn’t seem very appealing. And I like it here. Suddenly I grin. I whip my phone out, and type rapidly.

Are you nearby? Are you free?

The phone buzzes back in equal haste. Within minutes, Jake is here, sitting right across me. We talk, we laugh, we binge on fries. He asks me about Ethan. I feel the familiar tightening of my muscles, and I blush. He smiles. I feel a warmth spreading through my body; the warmth of friendship, of familiarity, of Jake.

I reach home and check my phone to see Ethan’s messages. I wonder if I should be offended that he cancelled our date, but his reason seems valid enough, so I decide to play it cool. “But he cancelled on you, so let him text you first.” There’s my bestie’s voice again. I roll my eyes and keep the phone aside. It buzzes and I grab it.

You forgot your scarf in my car again, moron.

It’s Jake.

Meet me tomorrow and take it.

I smile, feeling the warmth in my body again. Looks like I’m meeting Jake tomorrow.

Bruised

I was a bruised little animal
Hiding in the shade
Of your love, till I was healed,
And then I walked away.

Was it wrong? Was I selfish?
WIll I burn in hell for this?
That would frighten me well
If I believed in the existence of hell.

So what if I hurt you?
Someone hurt me too.
That’s just the way it goes;
The cycle of love and heartbreak.

Your wounds will heal
With someone else’s love
And then you’ll leave them
Too, all alone.

Aren’t we just animals here
Inside our civilized coats?
Looking for self-preservation.
There’s safety in being alone.

You say we had it all,
And I threw it away
But is ‘us’ what I wanted
In the first place?

Maybe yes, maybe no
Maybe I wanted it before.
But something has changed
Now I’m as jaded as they say.

And this is not our story, love.
The story is mine.
And happiness of the forever kind
Comes at a price.

You and Me

How do I, from this multicoloured sea,

Pick droplets of colour to describe you and me?

 

Do I pick yellow for the happy memories

And colour the sad ones with blue?

Or do I just paint a rainbow

To describe everything we’ve been through?

 

But a rainbow isn’t enough!

Seven colours don’t suffice

To show you all the things

That I feel deep inside.

 

‘Cause though my heart is broken

And it feels a little blue,

There’s a new, rosy glow around it

And that feels nice too!

 

But this isn’t about me,

It’s about me and you.

Seven colours can’t describe us,

Neither can twenty-two.

 

But darling, don’t fret. I have a solution, you see.

It’d take the entire sea to describe you and me.

What Love Was

In the beginning, love was slow;

That warm feeling seeping slowly into her heart

When she wasn’t looking, filling her up

Until she felt she would burst with happiness.

 

She’d been wrong. Love was hurtful;

Pain and heartbreak had left her raw.

Love didn’t exist! she told herself.

She would never fall in love again.

 

She fell in love again. It was patient,

Kind and gentle. Simple and familiar.

It was friendship. It was perfect.

Maybe too perfect. She fell out of love again.

 

Love was a burst of colour, a blinding flash of light.

A spark that flew when two stones

Accidentally brushed against each other.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, a fire was lit.

 

Love was the sea meeting the land.

Not to gently embrace the white sand,

But to crash itself upon the rocky shore.

Impulsive and brazen. All consuming.

 

Or maybe love was the sand

Waiting to be touched by the sea,

Glowing under the pale moonlight

With a thirst that would never fully be quenched.

 

Love was the flickering embers in a dying fire,

A brazen reminder of the spark that it once held

Brought back to life with a sudden word, a look, a touch.

Emitting wisps of smoky memories, refusing to die.

When Love is not Enough

Do you ever feel it? An immense craving for love and affection? This sudden desire of just regressing back to your mother’s womb and leaving everything behind? All this pain, and heartbreak and sadness, and the petty things of life that get you down. It catches you by surprise, this overwhelming emotion; when you wake up one day and simply cannot recognize the life you have so meticulously created for yourself.

This life; which is nothing like your idealist mind’s imagination. But then people have always told you life is not going to be easy. Yet, you thought you were in control. Building it the way you wanted it to be. Surrounded by people you like. Surrounded by things you like.

Until you wake up one day and realize it isn’t so. That there’s a gaping hole in your heart, one you didn’t even know existed, and has existed for quite some time, even when you were so blissfully content with your life. That this hole has grown bigger and bigger, feeding on your simplicity, your kindness; feeding on your soul, your very existence, till you’re left with nothing. Just a mechanical being that eats and sleeps; with no strength left to dream.

And it’s those days, when this realization hits you, that you need love, however you would define it. But it’s nowhere to be found. Not your parents, who don’t really know how to express affection, but expect you to know they love you. Not your friends, who you have kept close yet at a distance, not ready to show them your scars. They aren’t really equipped to show love, maybe because they don’t really ‘love’ you in that sense. There are those who do, of course, but each one dealing with their own issues and insecurities, aren’t able to quench your growing thirst. There are the lovers, who take and take and consume the love that you pour out with all your heart, but can’t really give it back.

And so you lie there, a young little thing, looking at the life yet to be lived, already exhausted. And whether you’re a prince or a princess, there’s no retribution for you. Because there is no saviour, and you’re too broken to save yourself.

A Letter to the Nice Guys

We hear about this all the time. How women always fall for the jerks. How the nice guys are friendzoned. How they never get a chance. How unfair it is.

Having been friendzoned myself, (yes, it happens to women too!) I know how you feel. And having friendzoned quite a few guys myself, I also know the other perspective; the woman’s perspective that no one seems to bother about.

So I figured I would put it out there. An answer to the eternal question on every nice guy’s mind:

Why don’t women choose the nice guys?

Dear ‘Nice Guy’,

First of all, I’d like to thank you for being there for us. No matter what, we can always depend on you. In the good times or the bad, you always have our back. Especially in the bad times.

Come to think of it, you always befriend us during our times of need! Whether we’re having problems with our studies, parents, boyfriends or friends, you suddenly show up and give us a shoulder to cry on. You listen patiently to all our rantings and try to help us out. That’s what good friends do, and we appreciate it. You’re a nice guy.

But as soon as the problem goes away, you start expecting some appreciation or some kind of a reward for helping us out. Most of the times, friendship is just not enough and you want ‘something’ more. And if we don’t feel the same way about you, you get hurt. Offended. Unable to understand why we wouldn’t want to be with a ‘nice guy’ like you.

Let’s get something straight. If you feel this way, you are not a nice guy. Just because you helped us in our time of need, we do not ‘owe’ you anything.  And if you feel that you are entitled to some kind of benefits simply because you helped us out,  you are highly mistaken. And not at all nice. In fact you are a selfish douche. And not a very good friend.

And if you are one of those guys who has liked a girl since a long long time, and has  stayed her friend and supported her through thick and thin, but never expressed your feelings, you have no right to complain! The girl probably doesn’t even have a clue that you like her. Just being there for her is not going to magically make her fall in love with you. You have to tell her how you feel. If she feels the same way, good for you! If she doesn’t, you can still continue to be her friend. Unless you were only doing it to get close to her. In which case, you are also a douche.

And this is the reason girls don’t fall for guys like you. Because deep down, you are not a nice guy, and we know it.

So don’t go around complaining about how life is unfair, and how you don’t have a chance. Maybe if you just asked us out instead of trying to get close to us when we’re vulnerable, you wouldn’t have such a hard time. Maybe then you would actually have a chance at a relationship based on mutual respect and not planning and manipulation on your part.

But for that, you would have to be a nice guy.

With love,

The friend that you lost.

Mother Knows Best

The first time I heard (and saw) this song in Disney’s Tangled, I couldn’t help grinning like an idiot. How could someone so perfectly fit into a song the infuriating behaviour of mothers all around the world?!

Well they did. And it exists. Right here.

Now I’m not saying my mum is a villain. But there are so many similarities between Rapunzel’s ‘mother’ and my own! The criticism. The incessant nagging. The restrictions. The infuriating ‘mother knows best’ attitude.

This isn’t a post about mom bashing. Though I have been known to do that a lot!

Because there is one major difference between Rapunzel’s mother and mine. A difference that effectively sidelines all the similarities. My mum loves me, not just my hair. (Rapunzel’s hair has magical powers, which is why Mother Gothel keeps her around.) In fact she really doesn’t like my hair, but that’s not the point. Maybe if my hair had healing powers she would like it more. But it doesn’t, so she’s left with plain old me, void of any magical powers, and she loves me for me.

Mothers have this superpower, this ability to love you unconditionally. Whether you are the best and most obedient kid or a super-rebellious one, she will love you all the same.

I know what you’re going to say. People say this all the time. Why are you realizing this just now? What changed?

Well, I guess my attitude towards my mom changed.

Being a feminist, atheist and whatever else I choose to be, I am always defying the norm. And most of the times, defying my mom. (Just like Rapunzel defies Mother Gothel and leaves the tower!) I have always prided myself in being strong and independent and freethinking. In being whatever I am today despite the challenges life has thrown at me. Despite the restrictions imposed by society and *cough* my mom *cough*.

What never struck me before was the fact that my mom is reason for me being so strong and independent, and being able to face those challenges in the first place. She was the one who showed me how to stand up to bullies. She pushed me into music and dance, two of my biggest passions and talents today, to help me get rid of my shyness and become more confident. She urged me to step out into the limelight for the smallest of things. She told me I was meant for greatness. Lucky for me, I believed her.

This dawned on me with a new-found love for my mom.

Because now there is one thing I’m absolutely sure of. At  the end of the day when I come back to the tower after gathering the courage to leave it and see the world, no one will be happier or prouder than my mother.

And today I can admit, although I’m still cringing a little, mother does know best!

A Love Poem

I see you watching me,

With love in your eyes.

Mesmerized, watching every move,

Like you have never seen movement before.

Your eyes light up like diamonds

Every time you see my face. Pleasure,

Like you have never known pleasure before.

Never have stars danced so in your eyes.

Your eyes, a peculiar shade of brown

Draw me closer against my will.

And I too stand mesmerized,

My heart melting at the sight of you.

With you I laugh, and what a laugh!

Every atom of my body shivers.

We laugh together, side by side

Until nothing remains but our joy in our hearts.

And when you whisper sweet nothings

So playfully in my ear,

My heart, it swells with liquid love.

My mind loses its rationality.

I have, but a tiny glimpse

Of the life that lies with you.

A future so uncertain yet familiar,

The thought of which fills me with glee.

I see you watching me,

As you lie awake in bed.

And I sleep in your arms

Basking in the warmth of a new-found love.

A little bit of Sugar

Being born into a Hindu family, Christmas was to me a strange phenomenon.  I’m not saying that non-Christians in India don’t celebrate Christmas. But people around me didn’t. So I never really had the opportunity to celebrate Christmas, until this year.

This year, me and my friends went all out. Or rather, I went all out. From joining the college choir and singing Christmas carols in dresses and Santa hats, to participating in Secret Santa and beating my brains out buying gifts for a friend, the Christmas spirit was in the air for almost an entire month!

Christmas eve was spent drinking hot chocolate and exchanging gifts.

Then, Christmas day arrived. We dressed up and went out for lunch, while the evening was spent on campus, in the quite comfort of a good movie.

The next morning, another Secret Santa emerged, inviting us all for a treasure hunt that evening! After running all over the campus looking for clues, we finally celebrated with cake and fortune cookies.

By the end of it, I realized that we did all of this not because of religion or tradition. But because it was fun. Because giving and receiving gifts made us feel loving and loved. And isn’t that the essence of Christmas?

We all need a little sugar in our lives. A sprinkle of joyful and loving moments to make life a little bit better, a little bit sweeter. For me, 2014 had its ups and downs. But with this Christmas, my year ended on a honey-filled note.

What was your sweetest, most joyful moment in 2014? Comment below!

The Woman

I call her didi. 

She’s eleven years older than me; an age difference everyone keeps reminding us of. But we talk as equals. And boy, do we talk! Whether lazing around at home or sipping coffee in our favorite café, we move from one topic to another. Sharing what we learned, taking it apart bit by bit.  We are unaware of time, space and age. Of the supposed gap between generations Y and Z. We aren’t sisters; we’re just two individuals. Discussing. Analyzing. Be it psychology, sociology or the plot of a new TV show; our banter never stops.

But we aren’t equals. Not really. I see her once in two months; sometimes more often. We spend half of our nights talking; spilling our friends’ secrets and whispering about boys. I tell her about my college, she tells me about hers. Sometimes I say something really funny and she lets out a peal of laughter, waking everyone in the house. It sounds like a witch’s cackle, I tell her.

Sometimes I call her when I’m in FLAME. When something really exciting happens. Or when I need comforting. Or when I have tough decisions to make. You see, she knows everything about me.

But she’s a small child. Mani mau (kitten/cat), I call her. She cries when she gets terribly hungry. And she drinks unbelievably large amounts of milk.

She buys me gifts. Loads of them. She makes fun of me; and I can never resist pulling her leg. We share clothes; always eyeing each other’s brand new purchases. We take hilariously stupid videos and selfies. We sing incredibly stupid songs on the karaoke. As individuals, we are unmistakably different. But our academic tastes are so similar and non-mainstream, they sometimes leave our parents baffled.

She’s my confidante, my mentor, my mother, my daughter. I call her didi.

Happy Endings

Impatiently I await,

My heart filled with glee.

For my knight in shining armour

To come forth and rescue me.

 

Riding his white horse,

Fighting dangerous beasts,

He’ll save me from my misery

And sweep me off my feet!

 

Take me away from this tower!

To a land of joy and laughter

To your kingdom, my beloved prince

Where we’ll live happily ever after!

 

And so I await in this locked tower

Such a pretty sight, a damsel in distress

Held here with the promise of true love…

 

But where is true love, I ask you

Where is my promised life?

I’ve been trapped in here for years now

Cutting my hair with a blunt knife!

 

My skin has turned deathly pale now

My golden locks a dirty brown

Yet, I sit here and wait

I wait for the promised crown.