Untitled

“Who’s this, grandma?”

“A friend”

“How come I never knew about this friend of yours?”

“Because you never asked”

“And I never asked about the stars and the moon, either”

Sigh

“Who is this, Grandma?”

My granddaughter knew every tiny detail about me. Mostly, because she was always kept under my care, whenever her parents went for work. And whenever they went for vacations. And whenever they had stuff to do that didn’t include Natasha. Ever since Natasha started walking and talking, she has been under my care. Now 20 and a beautiful lady, she’s my everything. My best friend, my confidante, my companion. And I am her granny, her sweet old friend who sits on an arm chair and tells her fables of the past. My past.

“I was about to get married to this friend”

“You were about to get married to her?” Natasha looked up at me, a look of disbelief.

“Yes. We were. Nobody knew but we planned secretly, happily and yes, we couldn’t believe we were actually doing that”

She crossed her legs and a smile ran across her face. She wasn’t judging.

“But you and grandpa!”

“Things changed. She couldn’t marry me. And your grandpa knows about this. Things changed after her father retired. They went for a vacation, the whole family did. And after they returned, her father fell ill. And I don’t mean, cough or fever, of course. He was diagnosed with Meningitis. And then on, it went just downhill” I moved my hands to show her a downward spiral movement, just so I wouldn’t break down.

“What happened after?”

“He…died.”

“No…” she whispered.

“Her mom went crazy. She wouldn’t talk or eat. And she knew about my relation with her daughter, which didn’t make anything better. She wouldn’t tolerate me inside the house and wouldn’t let me meet her. One day I got a call from…her.”

“Why won’t you take her name?”

“And I went to meet her. She cried. She hugged me and cried and apologised for everything. I kept saying it was okay but she wouldn’t listen. She kissed me and started crying again. I had no idea what was happening or maybe I did but wasn’t ready to acknowledge it. Then she said it. She had a talk with her mom regarding me and they had an argument. It didn’t go so well, since I got married to your grandfather. What her mom told her was, she either forgets me or she could forget her mom.”

“And she chose her mom.”

“I wouldn’t let her choose otherwise. Her mom had already lost her father”

“Does mom know?”

“Nobody in the family apart from Grandpa knows. And now, of course, you.”

“Why wouldn’t you take her name?”

Sigh.

“It hurts less”

Ace The Reality

I do not feel anything. I never feel anything. I see a boy sitting right in front of me, who probably is hot because I see girls staring at him but I don’t think he is hot. And then I see a girl in the metro, who is probably “sexy” because the guy sitting next to her is really trying hard to hit on her, unsuccessfully however and I am not attracted to her either. And this is so scary because only last week did I start thinking that something might be wrong with me. Let’s not go to being “physically sexually active”. I am talking about my mind. I never have or had fantasies about any girl or a guy. My best friend once changed clothes in front of me. And even though she was just in her lingerie, I didn’t feel a thing. This means, I am not a Lesbian. I go for swimming and I see guys there, with their swimsuit, which are basically tight shorts. And nothing, nothing at all. His body doesn’t make me have fantasies ever. Her existence doesn’t make me think that I can spend my entire life with her. And it’s all so confusing because I have no idea what is happening and why.

          However, the only possible romantic feeling I ever remember having was having a crush on Patrick Dempsey but then, that’s me having a crush on someone I will never meet. And I even dated a guy because he was nice, mind you, “Nice”; not in the romantic way. We got pretty close to each other but then, it was him putting in all the effort. And I guess he realized it, which resulted in us breaking up. Although we broke up, we were pretty much close to each other, because I thought that’s how things should remain. Then one day, I told him, trusting him to understand the gravity of every word that I spoke. I revealed to him that I never had urges during our relationship, to take it to a little bit more physical level, while he was trying to. His reaction? “So, like, you are telling me that you are like a unisexual bacteria? You are just gonna split up into two and reproduce?” He laughed at my most intimate secret. And not only that, he actually left me in the Cafeteria alone, not having the basic courtesy to even pay his own share of the bill. I felt hurt and humiliated and realized that may be this is how people will react.

          I am 23 now and haven’t dated a single guy. Where most people will think I am just the perfect Saint for them, remaining virgin till 23, and probably thinking of having sex with my future husband, I am not thinking of sex at all. During all these years, I never once had an urge to see a guy naked or even a girl, since Gays/Lesbians are more defined and more “there” in the society I live in. The only urge I had was to cuddle with my ex-boyfriend. And that’s wasn’t even romantic. It was snowing outside and it felt cosy in his arms. He probably took it the way straight guys take but I didn’t. Even when I had my puberty and so did my friends, I didn’t understand what was so great about sex. They discussed it and I just stood there like “I don’t know what you mean”. So, I thought, maybe they watch porn. I did that too. And I tell you, one of the most boring hour of my life. I mean, two naked people on the bed, moving in sync with whatever it is they are moving with. The girl was moaning for God knows what reason and the guy was just…it was just a bad experience. And so, I resolved to read books which contained erotic scenes. I read books and nope. Every time there was a scene where they kissed and made out, I felt blank. And then there was this time, when my best friend cribbed about how she missed kissing her boyfriend or even making out, because he was on a Vacation to his hometown (this was when we were in college) and I didn’t even understand what the big deal was. Like, hello! I haven’t had any physical activity going on with anyone! I didn’t say anything but I just listened to her because that’s how good I am (narcissist much?). However, I did tell her my problem eventually because all the thoughts spamming my brain were driving me crazy. She listened to me and we together were driven into craziness with spamming thoughts.

          What I usually preach is never diagnose your disease on the internet. But this isn’t a disease and that was my excuse. I searched Yahoo!Answers and WikiHow. And there lay my answers. There were questions where people put forward their stories, scared as hell because they were so confused. And then there were people who patiently helped them out. I wanted to try putting forward my queries but refrained from it.

          Now I know what I am. Now I know how I will be leading my life and I am scared because this picture has no one to whom I will ever look at romantically. I will be alone. I do not feel sexually attracted to guys/girls. I am an Asexual. I am an Ace. And my life, a new discovery that I have recently made, is at the starting point. 23 years late, but yes my life starts now. I am an Asexual and proud.

Ruth

When you’re around someone so much, for so long, they become a part of you. And when they go away, you don’t know who you are without them.

                                                                   -Anonymous 

I came out of my bathroom and went to sleep. I looked at the other side of the bed, my girlfriend’s side. My girlfriend, Ruth, since 4 years. I don’t think my life would move any further without her. It’s like, if the whole world runs out of petrol, the cars already manufactured would have no use; they would rust and die out. My life would be one of those useless, rusted cars. I saw her smile, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, the one that makes you smile when you’re having a rough day. Her beautiful, waist length, straight hair, cascading down her body to end in curls. Every feature in her body was a thing of beauty. I smiled back at her. I held her in my arms, kissed her rosy cheeks and asked,

“Wanna hear a story?”

She said nothing but just looked at me, with those mesmerising eyes. I took that as a yes.

“Okay, well, it’s a very old story. When I wasn't born even, or maybe I was, I forgot, we had this maid. She was in her teenage. Not slavery or anything, ok? We treated her like a member of the family. Same food, new clothes. So, anyway, she was from a very poor family, too poor.”

Ruth looked on. “She’d visit her home twice or so in a year. Her house was pretty far away from where we lived then. We lived on a hill. And her house was on the other-side. We couldn't send her alone, she was a young ripe girl. My dad’s office car would drop her. But he was a busy man, he needed the car. Hence, twice a year. She was a nice and a smart girl, so I have heard. And a very nice cook. Not that mom let her cook or anything, but if situation demanded that she cook at least one dish, she’d do so in perfection. She was clean, unlike most. Okay, so, during Diwali, she was very excited. She’d tell mom, ‘I am gonna meet my brother on Bhai Dooj, I will give him a gift. He always wanted a gift. He will be so happy, I can’t even explain it to you!’ Mom would ask her what gift she’d give, to which she would answer that she’d give him a pencil and a notebook. He probably won’t have any use but a gift from a sister is priceless.

          Then, one day, a phone call ruined it all for her, she being oblivious to that fact. Her uncle had called, to give the news that her brother had passed away, after battling malaria. There was a breakout in her village and he didn't survive. He didn't survive, her expectations coming to a halt. Mom was stunned, she had no idea how to deliver the news to her, and how to tell her that the notebook and the pencil she had bought for her brother, would remain untouched, unused and unloved. And, she didn't actually. She didn't tell her that her brother had died, she couldn't. So, when the maid went home, mom gave her some money and bid her goodbye. She went away and we never saw her again. Well, my parents never saw her again.”

          When I finished narrating the story, I turned to look at Ruth and found her smiling at me. Evergreen and genuine.

“Sad, isn't it? When you love someone so much and they suddenly disappear, you just don’t know what to do.”

We remained in silence for a while when a soft tear tickled down my cheek, as I looked at her. “You just don’t know”

I kissed the framed photograph of my late girlfriend and me, smiling at the camera, oblivious to the fact that minutes later she’d have an Aneurysm and go away forever. Since then, I’d been telling her a story from my life, stories I could never tell her when she was alive.

I kissed the picture again, “Goodnight, love. I miss you.”  

Incomplete

Now when I think about it, I really did injustice to that girl. And even though I never knew her name, if you’re reading this, I so sorry for reading those letters!

So, anyway, this is how it goes. I used to travel to school on a bus. The bus looked like it survived a hurricane every other day.  And even though the bus ride sometimes weren’t that fun (I slapped a girl; we’ll get back to that later), this is that fragment of my memory which has surprised me a lot. I mean, I had never given it a thought after it occurred, not even a second of my attention. And now, here I am, writing it down for a blog-piece. Okay, I am drifting away. So, what happened was, I used to stand at the entrance of my lane for my bus to pick me up. Say, I usually waited for about 5-10 minutes. One day, I was standing there, feeling awkward as usual, when a girl came over to me and asked if a knew a girl who’s name I don’t remember now. Let’s just call her Anaida (It’s not privacy concern; I really forgot her name). So, this girl comes up to me and asks me if I know Anaida, who was supposedly my senior. I knew that she existed, heard her name, saw her too. You know how it is in All Girls Convent Schools, you just know every one of your seniors and you’re also terrified of them, for God knows what reasons. But I was too busy being awkward to even be scared of them.

“Yeah, I think I do” I said, wondering who she was.

“No, no. I need to be sure that you do know her” she said, somewhat annoyed.

“Well, what batch is she?” I asked, pretending to be ‘somewhat annoyed’.

“She is in 9^th grade”

“And I am in 7^th. See the difference? I won’t know her personally but I have seen her and I sure know who you’re talking about. Why do you ask anyway?”

“Because I have to give her this.” She said as she pulled a piece of paper, folded in many folds, out of her skirt pocket.

“And this is?” I said, as I took it

“A letter”

“Really? I couldn’t have figured that out without that vital piece of information you just gave me” I thought to myself.

“I know that, okay? What letter is it?” I said and made sure she heard the cynicism in my voice.

“You’re not supposed to know.” She said, which was kind of stupid because I can easily open the letter and read it.

“Ah. Confidential, eh?” I said, flipping the folded paper

“So, make sure you give it to her only” she said and was about to go her way, when something struck me,

“Hey! Aren’t you going to ask me to not open the letter?”

She turned back and faced me, like she was making a grand entrance in a movie and said,

“Go ahead and enjoy” and smiled and left. All I could mutter was a “huh?” because I thought I wasn’t suppose to know.

But, good as I am, I didn’t read it because it was confidential and very out of my business. This event wasn’t forgotten but happened the next day and the day after. And after it happened for three days consecutively, my curiosity got the better of me.   

 Eventually, I did open the letter after she left the scene, one day. After I opened, for a moment I thought her handwriting was illegible, tiny and no-sense whatsoever. When I looked closely, it turned out that the whole letter was freaking coded. The letter was coded. And it probably had one or two English words. I felt stupid, all of a sudden. You are not supposed to know. More like, you can try but you won’t.

If we would have been together.

Okay, so this is my first poem. Like, seriously my first poem. I hope you like it! :) 

If would have been together since kindergarten,

We’d have moved marshmallows, not mountains.

If we would have been together, we’d have been great,

We would have nap times together, dreaming about the world.

If we would have been together, we’d have lunch together in our colourful little boxes,

We would be in awe of each others’ food, just like we are now.

If we would have been together, we would have been strong,

We wouldn’t have to worry about bullies, because we’d be together.

If we would have been together, we’d be awesome,

Because that’s what we are now.

If we would have been together, we’d be in the same class,

Be horrified of the monitor for she might write our names on the board.

If we would have been together, we’d play,

I’d pick you up when you fall and see you cry as the matron put an anti-septic liquid.

If we would have been together, we’d sit together, have home-works together,

We’d be awkward about talking about the incident where one of us got told off from the teacher.

If we would have been together, we’d wish each other birthday through our mommies,

We’d invite each other over with family and play around the house and fall asleep together when tired.

If we would have been together, we’d have gone through high school together,

We’d have gone through puberty together, first crush, oh that feel.

If we would have been together, we’d be each others’ support,

We’d have stood up for each other against rude girls.

If we would have been together, we wouldn’t have had to face jokes made at our expense,

We’d have been ecstatic about joining the same tuitions.

If we would have been together, our school life would have been better,

We’d have known each others’ history, dark and bright.

If we would have been together, we’d have been pseudo-lesbians, like we are now,

We’d have been so happy.

If we would have been together, I wouldn’t have been writing this terrible poem,

And you wouldn’t have to read it.

If we would have been together, things would have been so different,

We’d have lived the life someone else did.

A Minion Above Clouds.

God's minion Apricot, who cried and rained on our hearts
He sang to me awhile ago, he sang to me of the night.
And fates still intertwine, as they should
As they will; we dare not look.
He still slings his camera on his arm
He still likes to picture us frozen
He says he is having fun,
I doubt his conviction.
If you see him brooding,
Under the stars, aloof and lonely
Tell him he's a star
Not just the director,
His decision, but not his folly.

- Upasana Chandan Sharma.

Eyes

“Never trust people with black eyes. They are evil” said my maternal grandmother, long time back. It’s shocking, realizing that now I can barely understand her.
“Really? Are they all?” I said, as I sipped my coffee. She used to make amazing coffee. She’s not dead but weak enough to not be able to cook anything. She lives with my uncle.

“Well, mostly. As far as I have known the few people with black eyes. Actually, just one. She was really evil. But was good to me.” She said with a smile. I think I got this from my grandmother – maternal one, i.e. – that if somebody, or anybody for that matter, doesn’t do any harm to me, I don’t really hate them. I might dislike them for treating someone I love, or really care about, in a wrong manner but hate is a strong emotion. I do however hate certain people. But for reasons contemptible of even a simple mention. And my grandmother knew I had that principle, rule or whatever you may term it as.

“Okay. What did she do that made her evil?” I asked, basically for two reasons. One was because I was curious, obviously. Black eyes, evil person. Something that caught my curiosity. The other reason was because I wanted to prove her wrong about the “black eyed people are evil” theory of hers. But she never told me.
“Oh never mind. It’s too long a story” she said as she waved her hand at me.

Even after many, many persuasions, at the cost of my coffee going cold, she didn’t utter a single word related to that topic. “Bad influence”, she said. Whatever that was supposed to mean, I gave up. She had years of experience in doing that putting-the-topic-away thing and I was just 15. But I did eventually know why she’d said that. Black eyed people are evil, you know. Young and adult, alike.

                                                          *

I wanted to be a swimmer. But let’s laugh for a while regarding that because now my tummy looks like I am 4 months pregnant. Also, I was always scared of the chlorine ruining my hair, and my already-damaged skin. I just sat down on one of the chairs near the edges of the pool, fully dressed and so out of place because I was also reading a novel by Haruki Murakami named Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. The pool’s radiant blue tiles beneath was making the water look like it was blue. And the sun from the windows was reflecting the blue color, making the whole stadium blue-ish.

“Hey Tish, don’t go near the edge, will you? It’s slippery there” a girl, who was getting ready to go into the crystal clear water, said abruptly, causing me to look up. By the time I looked to my right-hand side, the girl was already gone. So, I looked at the little girl, just to check if she had backed away from the edge. The edges really were slippery. The little girl merely looked towards the other girls who walked away, towards a group of girls and who were now talking animatedly. She turned to look at me and smiled. She was pretty. She wasn’t really that fair or anything, just a normal, light tan-ish tone to her skin, wavy black hair which ended in curls. She was pretty. I smiled back and almost went back to reading the novel in my hands – almost – when my head shot up again, this time in realization: her eyes were deep black. I have seen the darkest of brown, most of my friends being the owner of such pairs, but you could figure out that it was brown when the sun rays reflected on them. But this black? I don’t think so I ever have caught sight of such a pair. Those were magnificently black. My thoughts immediately went back to my grandmother’s words two years back “Never trust people with black eyes. They are evil.” I pushed away that thought, thinking this girl, who was no older than 6 or 7, could possibly mean no harm to anyone, except for her own self because she still hadn’t moved from the edge. Also, her back was turned to me now, her friendly smile long gone. I still don’t know what made me watch her and not go back to the book, but I just watched her. Her tiny toes curling themselves from time to time, which made me think if she was considering jumping into the pool. She was in a swim-suit, a very cute red one with purple flowers on it. Her hair was open. She looked evil from no angle. She simply stood there, motionless. Except for her toes, I mean. They seemed to have been controlling themselves all along.

I kind of felt ridiculous, thinking that was I really expecting her to do something like trip someone into the water. Oh and she was standing near the deeper end. So, yeah. If you do fall without any intention to, into the deeper side, your whole life might flash in front of you. So, I started looking around. Towards people who were either joking about some topic or were getting ready to get into the water. But most of them, like that girl who was the little girl’s aunt, went and joined a group, and started talking.

And I have absolutely no idea exactly how that happened but a girl did fall into the deep end, right where Tish was. I didn’t immediately think it to be her, you know. But there was just no-one around. I stared at the little girl, thinking could it be really this 5-6 year old girl who tripped the other girl into the water. I literally riveted my eyes on her, just when a sound came from beside me,

“Did you see that girl?”

I turned to see a guy sitting on the chair beside mine, in total shock like he couldn’t believe what he saw.

“What?” I blurted out

“That girl. Over there!” he said as he frantically pointed towards Tish.

“What about her?” I said, raising my right eye. He looked at me in disbelief. He must have thought that I caught her in action while she tripped the other girl (he told me afterwards).

“That girl,” he said as he still kept his finger pointing at her, “pushed that girl” now pointing at the girl who tripped and who was being given medical attention by the doctor who’d arrived, “into the godamn water!”

My mouth fell open. It was her!

“Yeah, I know! My mouth fell open too! I came here to pick my sister up,” he said, pointing towards a girl wearing a yellow swim-suit, who was peering into the crowd, “and I just sat here, waiting for her when I saw her trip the girl. No-one will believe me if I say the truth!”

“Yeah, I know.” My words barely came out properly. I replied after like, some 5 minutes.

“You…you don’t think I am crazy?”

“Nope. I’ve been staring at her and she’s been acting a bit weird. She didn’t move away from the edge when her aunt asked her to.”

He sighed in relief, “That’s good then. But, this is disturbing.”

“You bet” I said, as I remembered my grandmother’s saying ‘Never trust people with black eyes. They are evil’

                                                *

“That girl did that, I swear gran!” I said, frantically bouncing. Too much bouncing, for an 18 year old.

“What are you talking about?” my grandma said, looking at me, her lost eyes searching my face for any clue about what I just said.

“Grandma? I narrated a whole story.” I said, in clear disbelief.

“She’s suffering from Amnesia. Crucial case, she hardly manages to remember her name by the end of an hour.” Said a nurse, who’d just entered the room. The room was white, really white. Like, you’ve died and are in heaven. That white it was.

“Oh” I said, somewhat feeling an obvious sadness.

“It’s okay,” she said as she smiled at me, “I’ll tell her you said something about the-” she stopped and looked at me,

“Never trust people with black eyes. They are evil” I said, forcing a smile.

“Yes, that” she smiled back.

“I’ll be leaving now, I guess,” I smiled at grandma, “Bye gran” I kissed her pale forehead.

“Bye, dear” she looked at me, a bit questioningly, as if trying to remember who I was. Before she could ask who I was, I left the room, smiling at the nurse, waving a “bye!”

I left the room. Outside, in the corridor, there was a woman, supported by a nurse, taking her to a room, probably. As I passed her, she looked up at me. I gasped. Her eyes! Those were of the blackest shade I have seen.

‘Never trust people with black eyes. They are evil’