A ride home.

The dark blue sky glistened with stars strewn across like fairy lights on a ceiling. The cold breeze blew and the mountain silhouettes breathed in the love that followed. The car zoomed past the bed of twinkling city lights below, the spirally mountain road leading to a presently-unknown destination. She opened the windows to let the cold whispering wind in. It was beautifully quiet; we hadn't said a word to each other apart from "Hi" and "Glad we finally met". There was no music playing, which was probably because we didn't even think of that, not even once. For me, however, her breathing body was a music I would listen to all day and all night. I looked out the window, the wind fiercely splashing my face, to look at where the night sky and the sparkling city lights merged. "Hey" she said. That would be the third thing she would be addressing me with in the entire day. I turned to look at her. She was driving so I don't know how she managed to hold her hand out towards me with a smile on her face while partially looking at the road. And I crashed. The curve of her lips, her dancing eyes and the wind blowing into her hair, enough to take anyone's breath away. I held out my hand onto hers and wrapped my fingers into her warm ones. "Mm hmm" she said, wrapping fingers back into mine and continued to drive with a smile on her face. And this, I would like to think, is the most personal moment I could share with someone I love. 

Bikes and everything nice (not).

Bikes are what my nightmares are made up of. Bikes and probably riding a horse but I haven’t done the latter so I guess that doesn’t really count.

          You will be surprised to know the kind of reasons I got up on a bike for, for someone who is profoundly scared of them. Well, I didn’t really come out of mother’s womb with a fear of bikes (I am sure they have a word for that also) because I remember my uncle driving round town on a bike with me behind, who would be very excited. And then, one day, a friend and I got on a neighbour’s bike, deciding to go for a joy ride, of course. We were ecstatic because our respective mothers didn’t know about this. Rebels.

          And we thought he knew what he was doing, alright. And we were well away from our house. So, mid way, a truck tries to overtake us. A BIG truck “tries” to overtake a bike. Oh no. No, wait. A scooter. Not even a bike. That’s how hilariously bad it was. So, anyway, while he was busy swerving (and moving like he was on a damn surf board), with our lives flashing by us, my friend’s left foot’s slipper fell down. We both looked at that slipper in horror because what would her mother say! And when her mother gets to know, so will mine! We were destined to be doomed. We couldn’t shout either, because etiquettes, people. What kind of unruly, rebellious girls do you think we were? Don’t answer that.

          We thought we’d talk about how it fell down a drain and we left it there. So, we were about to enter back into the neighbourhood when all three of us fell down. I don’t even know why, at that point, I was even surprised that happened. Because now when I think of it, I am not at all. It’s just something I can foresee now. And the three of us were so shocked that we didn’t move. I thought I lost both my ankles; one because it was underneath the scooter and the other, which was above and safe, because I just assumed that my legs loved each other and one wouldn’t live without the other. Don’t judge. Actually, go ahead.

          We did get out of it without a scar. But I guess the fear remained. Every time I am zooming past cars and other bulky vehicles on a busy road, I can’t help but think that the bike (an actual Bike) will crash onto a truck and my head will come out, splashing blood as it rotates in the air and finally falls down while my legs will be crushed into a bag of broken biscuits and well, the biker? I will leave that to you.

          But, since we are talking about nightmares and gory accident scenes, I will tell you this. I hate watching horror movies in a theatre. My friends, my lovely friends, don’t obviously care about that. And it wasn’t really that bad, either. I mean, my intestines and kidneys would be shouting in horror, on the inside. But I would be fine, otherwise. Then, I recently watched Annabelle. I heard it wasn’t scary at all. May be it wasn’t. But my brain begs to seriously differ.

          I went for Annabelle with Shifa. She has no problem watching a movie about a demented doll on the verge of killing every freaking body in the movie, even the baby. I am glad the family didn’t have any animals. I would have run down towards the hall screen and with the help of an axe, that will magically appear, would have shattered the screen. Don’t you dare touch the pets.

          Well, I don’t know how the movie went. I mean, I do but I don’t. Because I was too busy shielding my eyes from the horror of the possibility of a bookshelf falling down on a round little baby. I mean, I saw how it was raining books on that kid! And, I also don’t fancy peeing my pants out while screaming like a banshee. Inside a dark movie hall. Really. So, that happened. And then we went home. And obviously, the fun began when I fell asleep.

          Nope. No brownie points for guessing that books rained on me. So, my dream (or dreams) was going alright when I got stranded on a road accompanied by dark forest on either side. I was driving (Yeah, it was a dream, alright) because there wasn’t anybody else. So, I get out of my car and I am standing in front of the car. Not leaning, standing. And I see something crawling towards me. Well, I don’t know how to put this, but it wasn’t precisely crawling. If you attempt to cross a pipe-like tunnel and it’s only so much big that you can barely fit in, you move in a certain way because you are getting stuck every other second. This with the speed of the movement multiplied by 10. That thing, whoever, whatever, was moving like that towards me at that speed. I turn back to see my car has disappeared (Yeah, it was a nightmare, alright). I don’t even turn back to see if that thing was following me or not because I made a wild guess and knew that it certainly was. I run. I run like there is no tomorrow (you would agree that there wasn’t if you were there, hun). And I keep running but the chase doesn’t end or doesn’t even seem to end because it was gaining speed. I don’t really know what happened in that universe but I woke up in a pool of my own sweat. My hair was wet; the part where I was sleeping was wet. I don’t know how my roommate, with whom I share a bed with, didn’t wake up. I couldn’t really go back to sleep completely because I just kept seeing either that darned doll sitting on me or that thing in the form of a human body, crawling away to glory towards me.

          Well, took me three whole days to recover from this. If you think taking me out on a horror movie will somehow end up in a sexy time or snuggle time, I am sorry to break your heart but I don’t fly that way. That will lead only to me peeing on my seat at that moment. Take note.

Scotland

I once lived in a house. And the house smelled of freshly baked cookies and coffee. I once lived in a house that looked to the Loch Earn. Yes. I once lived in a house in Scotland. Oh, what a beauty.

          And the house told me, sit down, honey. Sit down and lean your head on my shoulders for I will stroke your hair until you pass into oblivion. Sit down beside me while I wrap you around with my warmth for I love you.

          And when it rained, the house danced me to the patio and I stood there looking towards the darkest of the forests. And the house held me from behind and exhaled onto my neck and that felt like rain on my hands. And the house made black tea for me and sat down across from me to know me better as I looked out the landscape.

          And the house glowed in its peace when I hung the fairy lights above the bed. The gleaming fairy lights kissed the house. And the house said, you are a breathless beauty. And the night never seemed better.

          And then I felt pain and worthlessness and the house beckoned me to the library. I sat down there for hours and time seemed to stop just for me. And I sat down without a word from my mouth as I leaned onto the wall in numbness. The house said, come over here, sweet love of mine. Come over here and speak to me about your woe. And the house leaned onto my shoulder while it held my hand and played with my fingers. And I spoke of what could have been and what I have lost. The house listened until I was out of breath. And we sat there, quiet, through the night.

          And once I turned into a passive aggressive monster. And I took my pen and struck the walls of the house down like a thousand stabbing knives. And the house stood strong as I kneeled down in wretchedness. And the house held me and told me, you got me, love. You got me for life. And I looked into its eyes and lost myself as my world dissolved around me into its warmth. And I felt peace.

          I once lived in a house near Loch Earn. A house that was loved beyond perfection. 

Amlokhi

People die. And they leave traces of memories with people. But how do you cope with the death of a person? How do you bring yourself to accept that someone you have known for a long time has ceased to exist?  How do you think?

          You start by thanking them in your thoughts, for all the times they came to you to help you, for all the times they made you smile and for all the times they made you cry because they were annoying you so much. You think about all the times they have loved you, held you in their arms and have allowed you to fall asleep right there. You thank them for stroking your hair every night so that you fall sleep peacefully. For all the times they have kissed your forehead and healed you. You thank them for them.

          But, you should cry when you feel like you need to. You may go to the bathroom with packets of tissues and cry your heart out over a song. You may pretend to fall asleep and turn your face away from the people around you because you aren’t comfortable with crying in front of people.  You may sit down at the corner of your bed and look out at a distant memory and have your tears roll down your cheek. You may choose not to answer anybody; to explain why you are crying. You may cry over all the good times you’ve had with that person and all the good times that you won’t.

          You must write, if you do. Take that pen and write. Let your fingers ooze that fierce energy you hold. Write away your thoughts. Write away your anger at that person leaving you. Write away your sadness. Mourn their death with your words. Even if the first word that comes to your mind is Apple. And it’s okay if you don’t write further because that word will now hold a meaning for you to always remember. That word will now always hold that fierce energy. You will never lose that. Even if you burn that book down or the paper, that word will always remain and strike a chord in your heart and soul whenever or wherever you see it. And you’ll remember.

          You may sit down and not move for a while. You may swallow your emotions down to your intestines. You may sit quiet for an eternity. You may hold them in your thoughts without crying or writing. You may, in the process, sleep. You may let slumber take you in its arms and cradle you to unconsciousness. You may lie under the warmth of your blanket, shielding you from the world. You may embrace peace while you mourn.

          Or, you may sew up them all. You may cry, knowing that there isn't any physicality to that person anymore. But you must realize that you hold every memory of them. It’s okay if you conjure a sad one to a happier one. A memory is powerful, regardless the kind. And then you may write. Don’t worry about the tear drops on the words. They will either leave a mark or disappear completely. But let them be. They are yours and yours forever. You may proceed to sleep in the arms of your blanket. You may bask in their warmth while you slowly fall sleep. Don’t worry about not falling asleep. Crying is like anaesthesia; like morphine. It heals. It soothes. It is peace.

          But know that they have always loved you. Know that you meant the world to that person. Know that they have forgiven you for anything and everything. Know that they have accepted you. Know that you were like that random word to them; know that you held their fierce energy. Know that you held meaning to their world.  Know that you have crossed their mind right before their demise. You have been an incredible part of their life. You have been loved. 

Passive Aggression.

Do you know of someone who is passive aggressive? Well, my friends do. And she is as passive aggressive as it gets. They don’t usually know what to do much like how she doesn't know what to do, either.

          As far as I know, she, sometimes, swallows back those tears she so doesn't want to share or if things get worse, she quickly closes the bathroom door and whimpers about an imaginary scenario. A scenario where someone she was working with probably died. She is passive aggressive.

          Some days, it’s really hard for her. Sometimes, it takes days for her to sit down sedately and not go on a killing rampage. Well, she does go on a killing rampage but that’s just in her head. It’s all in her head. Oh yes, it takes days for her to calm herself, to reason out the actions of that person, to understand the circumstances. Most of the time, she grasps the whole logic behind that; on most days, she gets really angry at herself. What’s the logic behind understanding that?

          Every so often, she has the last remnant of a smile plastered across her face by a joke long forgotten because she was buried under passive aggression. On other days, she hides under a blanket because she is oh so scared of cureless damage her speaking her mind out, while being simultaneously angry, would do. Isn't it always better to curl up into a ball of anger under the blanket and fall asleep rather than regret things that are said and can never be taken back? Of course it is.  

          Do you know of someone who is passive aggressive? If you do, I will advise you to let her be. If she is crying, let it pour. There is nothing more relaxing than letting emotions out. If she is hiding under a blanket, curled up into a ball, don’t try to disentangle her. If you see her smiling and you know that she is angry, smile at her to let her know that it’s okay. If you know that she is passive aggressive, you must let her be.  

Think.

Sit down. Sit down and think; think about that time you hurt someone, intentionally or otherwise. Did the person deserve it? Think about that time when you walked past a beggar on the street, commenting on how he/she could use his/her physical capability to work instead of begging. Do you know his/her story? Think about that time when you sneered at a girl/boy because they were heartbroken due to a break up. Did you feel that pain? Think about that time when you insulted a person publicly because they lost their temper at you for something they were going through. Was the person not worthy of forgiveness? Think about that time when you gossiped about another person’s dressing sense. Do you know why they dress the way they do? Think about the time when you made fun of a person who wasn't able to get over someone. Were you the one who was attached? Think about the time when you made fun of a person’s diction. How good is your diction? Think about the time when you talked about an emotional person. Is it wrong to be emotional? Think about the times when you talked behind a person because they tattooed their lover’s name. Did they tattoo their lover’s name on your skin? Think about the time when you bashed a person on his theistic/atheistic views. Don’t you have your views too? Think about that time when you found out that your teacher had a child without marriage and gossiped on that. Was that necessary on your part to comment on another person's choice? Think about that time when you made fun of your submissive friend. Is being submissive really that wrong? Think about that time when you took advantage of someone’s goodness. What if someone did that to you? Think about the time when you cheated on someone. Was cheating necessary? Think about the time when you made fun of someone by calling them a nerd. Is being a nerd a bad thing? Think about that time when you found out that someone you knew was a prostitute and stopped respecting them as a person because of that simple reason. Does being in prostitution mean that the person is bad? Think; think about all those times when you counselled your friend on not wearing a Burqa to college simply because it’s an all-girls college. Do you know for sure that she wore the Burqa because it was imposed or that it was her choice? Think about all those times when you made a person feel small. Why did you do that? Think about all those times when you judged a person based on zero knowledge about them. Who handed you the right to do that? Think.

          Now place yourself in their shoes. Would you appreciate a person if they treated you the way you treated these people? No, right? Are these people who you mistreated, still your friend? Yeah? Now, would you be a friend to someone if they were a version of you that you were to them?

          Have you ever apologized to them for the way you treated them? Have you ever said sorry? Sit down and think; think about why you didn't if they deserved that sorry or an act of forgiveness.    

She.

She is Morphine. She is happiness. She is the cement that fills the void. She is beautiful in her existence. She is breath-taking.

          Her voice; It’s a song played on loop. It’s your drug. It’s your addiction. It’s your rehab. It’s the voice that rings inside your head, over and over and you do not complain about. Her voice soothes your inner battles. It relaxes you. It’s that dose of cough syrup nobody has a problem with. Her voice is like blood inside your veins. Her voice blurs your world and it’s just her voice inside your head that you really need.

          Her presence is like sunshine; you need it. Her smile is beautiful. Oh, so beautiful. She is like the sound of waves. She’s like tea; you need it. You need Her. She is like basking in moonlight on a beach, where you are surrounded by the dark blue sky married to the stars and the waves echo your heart beat.

          She is like a roller coaster ride; she will take you on a ride with all your emotions. She is like the Ferris wheel, the London Eye; she is the moment when you are stopped at the top of the wheel. She is like a library; a library with minimal furniture. She is that moment when you are sitting with your love, coffee in your hand and talking about the world.

          She is a beauty. She is the reason why you smile. She is the reason why you stare at that video of a heart beating from a massive hole in the chest. She is the reason why you would do it all over again. She is the one you’ll follow into the dark. She is patience; all the patience in the world. She is your dream about the future. She is the sound of your deafening heartbeat you hear at 2 am in the morning. She is a Swarovski.