tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65462204617931847662024-03-19T13:50:19.429-07:00EtherealityComing from a soul that finds peace in writing. The one who tries to pen down what people really feel, but are unable to express. Is it what you have gone through? Is it what you feel? Join this site, then and wait for more! Share with your friends if you like!Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-60526401661759561962019-01-18T03:21:00.000-08:002019-01-18T03:25:27.434-08:007 minutes - IV<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">THE CONCLUSION.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Six years
ago…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I’ve just woken up and am late for my college. Mom didn’t
wake me up today. But I don’t yell because we’ll get into a fight and I don’t
have time to prove that I am right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I
brush my teeth and come to the kitchen to make some tea for myself. I need tea,
when the first sip of the steaming, hot tea touches your soul. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I take my cup and go to my room and
take a quick shower and then drink my tea. I’m all ready and set to go, when I
come out of my room and see that mom’s door is just closed yet. Is she still
sleeping? Worse, is she sick? I’ve been so busy with myself since I got up, I
didn’t even go to see her. I’m such a terrible daughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I open the door of her room when I
hear hushed whispers from the balcony. I go near the balcony and I hear the
words ‘I love you’ and it feels as though the joy in my life has just returned.
I’m so overjoyed, I go with my mom for two minutes, just so see her, and she’s
startled. She says she’d call later and hangs up. I look at her with a smile
and ask her who she was talking to, and she says Sunita aunty and I’m confused.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why’d you say I love you to Sunita
aunty?” I innocently ask, and that’s when it hitys me. My mother is having an
affair. I go numb for a minute, mom says something but my mind doesn’t register
it. I’ve just realized. I feel my head get heavier and I feel the blood
circulating in my body. My mom and dad weren’t on the best of terms, but I’d
made my peace with that, but this new information, what should I do with it? I
feel like I’d explode, the temperature of my body rises and I silently say,
“You weren’t talking to dad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re having an affair. How could
you? I know dad isn’t the best man in the world, but he doesn’t deserve this.
Why, mom? Tell me.” I am crying as these words leave my mouth. You never think
of your mother in this way, she’s the perfect lady for you. Y</span>our parents are
the ideal couple for you, and that image just shatters off, leaving nothing but
a void.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I don’t know for how long it’s been going on, if dad knew about
it, if the reason why dad was the way he was because of this. “I’ve never been
happy in my entire life. When I got married, I was very naïve and life catched
pace up since then, I had you, I had Mish. But now, both of you are growing up,
and that’s when I realized how lonely I was. I’ve never been hap[py with your
Dad, Alisha. I’m happy with my life now. This man, he understands me. He talks
to me and makes me feel loved. You tell me; don’t I deserve to be happy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">What do you
say when your mother asks for her happiness from you? You can’t say no, you
can’t say yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re stuck. I’m stuck.
It feels like I’m going to throw up. “Does- does dad know?” I mumble, to which
she moves her head from left to right three times, saying a no. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I’m stuck here, I have to lie to my dad for mom’s sake, when
what mom’s been doing makes me purely nauseous. I know the man; I hadn’t
expected this from him. Oh, forget him; I hadn’t expected this from my mother.
I’m stuck and I can’t do anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Since then, mom and I weren’t on good terms ever. I got a job
a few months later and moved out with Mish. I couldn’t leave her in the mess,
alone. Dad had found out and our home was a battlefield. Mish couldn’t have
stayed there. She’s mine, my headache, my responsibility, my little sister. With
time, I told her, but I shouldn’t have. She hates my parents, I don’t exactly
hate them, but I’m not on excellent terms either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Present…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Sam presses my hand hard enough to let me know he’s there
through everything, too hard because the ring he has given to me hurts my hand
a little. I haven’t spoken to my mother in five years, now she calls me for my
birthday. Amazing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">“I’ll pick up, Di. Don’t worry.” Mish initiates and I let
her. I’d melt if I hear her voice again, and I can’t afford that. Sam hugs me
and Misha goes to the balcony to talk, but doesn’t come out for solid five
minutes, when I finally tell Sam that I have to get to Mish. He lets me, he’s
very supportive and I love him. I go to the balcony and Mish and Jenny are
already there. I love how Misha and Jenny are friends because of me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">“What’s up, guys?” I ask, and Misha says mom’s been crying
for an hour and wants to see me, and puts the phone on loudspeaker. I hear her
voice after ages, it almost soothes my ears, but she’s crying. I hang up the
phone and tell Mish that we’re going to Mom’s place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need to see her; it’s been too long I have
been without a mother—without a family. I need to tell her I forgive her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">I take out my Activa and Mish sits behind me, and we start driving
off. We are both crying. It’s late night, and the breezes have turned cold. We
reach and intersection but the signals have gone off now, it’s just an orange
light blinking I see from a distance so I speed up, and as I am about to get
away, a truck hits us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">They say when you die, you have 7
minutes of brain activity left. Your entire life flashes in front of your eyes.
My flash is almost over. I’m on the hospital bed, clenching the sheets with my
hand. I didn’t reach my mother, I want to make things okay with her and dad.
Sam, I didn’t tell him I love him for the last time and. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-14498738670267660862019-01-17T03:03:00.000-08:002019-01-17T03:03:27.028-08:007 minutes - III<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Time.</div>
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As usual Jenny’s late; I’m waiting for her at G’s, a café we both love. I am bored alone, so I take out my phone and call her. It rings, but she doesn’t pick up. Must be driving, I say to myself. It’s because this has happened so many times, I’ve learnt to carry a book for myself whenever I go anywhere, so that I can at least read to keep myself entertained until Jenny comes.</div>
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Mindlessly, I turn the pages of Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, unable to concentrate. I’ve just started the book, and now Roger has invited Dr James Sheppard for dinner. I’m trying hard to focus, but there’s music being played in the background very loudly, making it difficult for me to do so. I look at the time, 04:26 pm, she’s almost half hour late. I decide to call her once again and ask her whereabouts, but I see her coming towards me opening her arms as for me to get up and hug her, so I do.</div>
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“You’re half an hour late,” I tell her.</div>
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“Sorry bro, I came late because, well, I left late. That’s just who I am as a person.” She laughs. I smile too. I swear her life motto is ‘Always late but worth the wait.’</div>
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We’re best friends. She knows me inside out, and I know her. We’ve been together since the fourth grade, and now we’ve lost the count of the number of years of our friendship. Jenny’s family. She asks me what’s up with me, and honestly there’s nothing, the typical office stuff, and the students I have to deal with and then that’s it. There’s also stuff like what I’m going to cook for dinner tonight, or how the bills are due and I’ve to pay it, or how I have to be of Misha’s help in her projects. I’ve a handful of stuff to take care of, but I’m excited to tell Jenny about how I met Sam the other day. I already have texted her, but she’s not the texting type of person, she mustn’t even have seen the text yet. I’m used to it.</div>
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She talks about how the locals get her inner devil to haunt everyone in the train, her boss’ wedding reception she attended last night, and a bunch of other things, but as always I zone out. I stop listening to her, and she knows that. But she still keeps talking, to not embarrass me.</div>
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“I met a guy.” I snap. Just as I say these words, I realize I have been thinking about him all the time I’d zoned out. I have replayed every minute in my head of the time I was with him, and I feel like it has never happened before.</div>
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"Oh goodie," she says, "I'd thought you'd never get over the last guy." </div>
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She's right. It took me a lot of time to get over the last guy I dated, we only went out for a couple of months but it'd had a deep impact on my being. But today is the first day in the last whole year that I haven't thought about him by myself, not cared if he'd have eaten his breakfast or not, not worried if he'd been well or not, not even cared that it's his birthday month.</div>
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"So, what's this new guy up to?" She asks again, she talks a lot. In fact, between us, she's the only one who talks. I just talk in verbs and she gets my nouns, adjectives and adverbs, and constructs my feelings in her mind with just absolute coherence.</div>
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"His name is Sameer." I tell her about everything that happened the morning I met him, and she's pleasantly surprised that I'm actually liking this guy. She tells me she thinks he's the one but I ask her to calm down, as it's only once we have met, and that I don't even know if he reciprocates or not.</div>
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"Of course he does," she snaps, "who wouldn't like you?"</div>
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"Well, of course." I say and wink, and then laugh. She laughs too.</div>
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* * *</div>
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Misha is late again. We are supposed to go dinner together, but these teens, I tell you. They want the world to turn according to them. I try to watch Netflix, but I'm kind of angry; I'm up since 6 and haven't eaten much just so we could eat and be together for some time in the evening. But Misha has, of course, taken her time and is 2 hours late.</div>
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It's 10, and I'm sleepy already, so I just make Maggi and just am about to eat, when she makes her grand entrance, throws her keys on the floor, opens her hair and flicks them, takes down her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and says, "Guess who's home."</div>
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"The maniac. Who wears sunglasses at night?" </div>
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"Oh, I'm sorry, Di. We'll go for an amazing dinner tomorrow. I forgot today. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She says, making her puppy face and I instantly melt. </div>
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"Get a spoon." I say.</div>
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* * *</div>
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With time, Sameer and I get really close, move in together and Misha stays with us. It's my birthday and I know they're arranging a surprise party, but I choose to stay mum and not ruin it. </div>
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I walk in the house and there's no one, the lights are off, and I see nothing. A part of me feels dejected as to how trash birthday party must this be, with no one here, nothing. As I'm walking in my room with dismay in my eyes, I hear chuckling, and I instantly know Misha and Sam have been doing something in there. I open the door of my room and Sam is down on his knees, saying, "Ma'am, would you like to have a dance?" with a hand out to ask for mine.</div>
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I grin widely and nod a yes, and give my hand in his, while the other hand covers my mouth, as I'm really overwhelmed. </div>
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Sam is wearing a tux, black colour, and Misha is in a purple gown, and there are all my close friends and acquaintances and Jenny just looks at me from a corner and smiles and I know, somehow she has done the most in this. She has invested more energy than anyone else because the satisfaction of it being a success is evident in her eyes, even from a distance.</div>
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Misha gets me all dressed up, and Sam and I have our due dance, and we're having fun, me in his arms, Misha and Jenny having food as both of them eat as much as an elephant, and the weather is perfect, the lights are dim and I'm with Sam, slow dancing as the music fills up the air with love, and that's when it happens. My phone stars to ring. Misha has it so I look at her.</div>
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"Who's it, Mish?"</div>
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"Mom."</div>
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We look at each other, suddenly anger filling up inside us, Sam holds my hand tight, but I'm evidently mad. She shouldn't have called me today.</div>
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Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-10923181891007347192019-01-11T19:34:00.001-08:002019-01-12T00:48:30.624-08:007 minutes - II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Meet<br>
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“Alisha,
what’s wrong with you? Wake up! Wake up NOW.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s Misha’s
voice, my younger sister. As I open my eyes, I’m at my home, my alarm beeping
loud enough to wake up everyone in the building but me. Misha’s on the bed next
to mine, covering her ears with her pillow, getting cranky and screaming her
lungs out at me. It’s 6 in the morning, and last night, I’d decided to go for a
morning walk today. Misha had laughed at me the very minute I told her and
twitted me about how I cannot do it. That’s why I wanted to, even more. There’s
no joy in the world that can compare to the one you get when you prove people
wrong. It’s like The Joy. I’m a little overweight, but that’s how I’ve always
been. My friends would pull my cheeks and call me names, and ask me not to wear
certain clothes because they didn’t look good on me because of my size, but I
didn’t care until now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yesterday I’d
been out with some of my friends, more like mere acquaintances, and I was
walking past a store with glass doors and windows -- all fancy, and I happened
to see my own reflection there. I didn’t look good but I wanted to. And that’s
when I realized I needed to work on myself. So I set an alarm for the morning,
and decided with all my heart that I had to get in shape, not for anyone else
but me. I love myself for just what I am, you see, but improvements never hurt
anyone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Right now, I
dismiss my alarm and still am lying in the bed, contemplating if I really need
to wake up and go jog. It’s winter, and my blanket is more comfortable than it
has ever been, and I know that if I don’t get up in a minute or two, I’ll fall
back asleep. I think of postponing my plan, but then I see Misha on the next
bed, snoring and sleeping peacefully, and I know if I don’t wake up, she’ll
mock me even more than yesterday because she would be proven right and she
would get The Joy, and I really hate when anybody mocks me for being lazy,
which is true, but still. So after a lot of thought, I finally wake up, still
half-heartedly. I can feel the unwillingness in my bones.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I take my
toothbrush and go to the washroom. There’s a full sized mirror in there, I’d
gotten it customized when we had first moved in here, around five years ago. I
brush my teeth and put the toothbrush on the sink, and look at myself in the
mirror. I see myself head to toe, every detail. My hair’s all messed up
considering the fact that I’ve just woken up. The patch beneath my eyes is a
shade or two darker than my chubby cheeks, and I remember how everyone tells me
to get enough sleep to lessen it, but what they don’t understand is sleep
evades me. There are a thousand things running on in my mind, it’s difficult to
shut everything and actually sleep. I can lie in the bed for infinite time,
thinking and scrutinizing, but sleeping is tough. Most of the nights, I’m up
until 4 or 5, just thinking. People ask me to get ‘human’ sleeping patterns. I
laugh. Moving on, my lips are pale, almost dry. I touch them and the tip of my
finger feels itched. I run my tongue over my lips, but they’re still dry. My
neck has always been darker than my face, I don’t know why. I see myself
wearing a plaid pyjama and a black coloured full sleeves t-shirt. I put my
hands over my waist, and breathe in, and look at myself again. Turning to the
side, I again breathe in, my belly still a little out. I have to work on
myself. I rub my hands on each other, and then over my face. I tie my hair,
change my pyjama, and get my earphones and put on my shoes, and finally leave
the house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
It’s a chilly
morning, and as I climb down the stairs, I see a group of children waiting at
the gate of the building. They’re all wearing the same school uniform, except
for one girl. But all of them are wearing the same sweater. They wave at me,
and I smile and wave back. I sigh a little, and I can see my breath. <i>Damn, it’s cold.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i><br></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I plug my
earphones in and <span style="text-indent: 36pt;">start my playlist. It’s completely full of Imagine Dragons’
songs; they’re my favourite band. I don’t really remember how and when I first
heard them, it’s just suddenly one day I realized I have a lot of their songs
and I happen to like them. So I searched even more, and every song I came
across felt like a missing part of my soul. Each song with a deep meaning,
incomprehensible by a lot of people.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I start
walking without a direction, but it is fast enough to make me shed a kilo or
two, because that’s what I am sacrificing my sleep for. My town isn’t really
very big, and I almost know everyone that stays around, by face. I’m really bad
with names, so whenever people come talk to me, I respond to whatever they say,
but don’t initiate any conversation on my own because how am I even supposed to
talk to someone without taking their name to say hello first? It’s silly, I
know, but I always have been this way. So even when I’m walking right now, a
bald man in his mid-forties comes to me and greets me a good morning. He stays
in the C wing of my building, I know that, but I don’t remember his name. So I
talk to him for a bit and keep walking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I get bored of
walking on the street, so I go to a jogging track that’s a little far from my
house. Polaroid keeps playing in my earphones and I start stretching for a bit
as my laziness hasn’t still left my body. I still have to psyche myself up for
a good, weight-shedding walk, so I just stand on the track, staring at it,
tilting my head and with a soulful look in my eyes, almost dreary.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“I can’t
imagine losing my sleep just to come here to stare at the path.” A deep voice
behind me says, startling me. I don’t instantly turn back, as I have my doubts.
What if he was talking to someone else, and I respond stupidly, making a fool
out of myself? I take a moment to look back, and within that moment, thousands
of thoughts run across my mind, the first one being that I really liked the
voice. A part of me feels ridiculed, one stranger said one sentence and I’m not
even sure it was to me, and here I am liking the sound of their voice. Simply
stupid. The second thought that’s a bit harsh says that he should be minding
his own damn business, what I do or do not do is none of his concern, but I
don’t say that out loud. That’s the thing about me. I cannot be rude to people.
I can hate them all I want, but I cannot just say it to their face. Another
thought that surfaces is that I don’t even really want to turn back and look at
him and talk to him, that’s for two reasons. One, what if his face isn’t as
good as his voice? I don’t want to be disappointed, but what I don’t understand
is I’m disappointing myself even now, thinking this stupid thought. And two, I
don’t want to talk to any new person so early in the morning. I don’t really
like conversing with even people that I know, why should I waste a few minutes
of a perfectly good albeit a little chilly and I-have-unwillingly-gotten-up
morning talking to a person I’d never even see again? Little did I know. . . <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I finally turn
back and sense him standing right behind me, so I don’t directly look at his
face. Instead I look down at his shoes, blue and black, a little muddy. As I
start looking up, I see his sweatpants, his wide, masculine, really attractive
chest hidden under the jacket he’s wearing, his hands - carrying a water
bottle, and finally his face. The first thing I notice about his face are his
eyes, they’re really little. They’re beautiful. He’s wearing glasses and the
voice I had heard about a minute ago so corresponds with this thing that’s standing
before me. I’m just in the moment, it’s dangerously struck me and I find myself
unable to utter even one single damn word. I just raise my eyebrows as to
respond and ask if it’s me who he is talking to, and then I hear his magical
deep voice again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Well yeah, I
saw you standing here for the past couple of minutes just looking at the track,
so I thought of asking you if you had any intentions to walk or run. You
could’ve slept really peacefully otherwise, instead of coming out in this
chilly, silly, stupid morning.” He says, forming creases on his forehead and
his eyes getting even smaller than they already are, and oh my God. I giggle in
my mind over chilly-silly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i>I think I was destined to meet you.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i><br></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I just realize
the words that I think in my mind and it bewilders me, what’s wrong with me?
For God’s sake I don’t even know the guy. In Hazel Grace’s words, he could be
an axe murderer. And I’m thinking about destiny. That’s so not me. I want to
give a perfect reply to him, this time using words. So I breathe in and say,
“Yes, I could’ve. But I really wanted to walk.” <i>Perfect reply, eh?</i> The inner Alisha laughs at me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“I’m Sameer,
by the way.” He thrusts out his hand, hoping for a handshake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Alisha.” I
say and nod, not shaking hands with him, I don’t know what got into me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
He looks a
little embarrassed, looks at me and his hand, and I suddenly realize I should
shake hands with him and so I do, and both of us smile awkwardly. What the hell
am I doing?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Want to, uh,
walk together?” He asks me, forming those creases again, this time smiling
genuinely. I almost hate everyone I meet, and he is the first person whom I’ve
not hated in the first five minutes of meeting, so I think, why not?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Sure,” I say
and nod, “yeah.” Why am I nodding so much? I realize I should stop, and so I
grab the back of my neck because I guess my brain is not sending correct orders
to the rest of me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I look at him
up and down again once before we start walking, I just want to. The first lap
we walk, he’s a lot faster than me. I already have started panting and the
muscles in my le<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">gs below the knee seem to have tightened, making it rather
difficult to continue walking in that pace.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“First day?”
He asks me, to which I nod again. “Walk a little slower then, don’t strain yourself
so much on the first day, or you’ll not want to come from tomorrow.” He smirks,
but how can I not want to come again, knowing he’s going to be here. I sigh and
smile too, and start walking a little slower than before, and he slows down
with me which I think is really sweet. We walk for three more laps, and he asks
me to sit on one of the benches as I look tired, which I am. He says he’ll run
a couple of rounds and join me back. I oblige.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I go sit, and
see him start running, well, jogging. I keep looking at him as he goes farther
away, and then disappears. I keep thinking about the last half an hour of my
life, and what has taken me over, what has gotten into me. It isn’t that it was
love at first sight or something. I just feel something weird and nice and
powerful, a <i>connection</i> to name it. I
wonder if he feels it too. I wonder if this feeling will fade away, or will
stick by right with me until my very last moments<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
He appears
from the other side again, and signals me that he’s going to run another round,
and I simply blink in response, as if saying a yes. I don’t feel cold anymore,
the temperature is still as low, but I think I’ve had the time to adjust. I rub
my palms over each other and run it over my face, that’s just something I
always do, and realize that the tip of nose is still cold. I remember how when
I used to go to the school in winters, this used to happen almost every day,
and Misha and my mom and I used to laugh our hearts out on the same nose-joke
every day, every year until it stopped. I don’t want to think of sad things, I
actually feel good today in forever, because I met Sameer today, and I don’t
want memories of the past to haunt me and clasp me today. I don’t want to fall into its clutches, as
they take me to the Dark Place in my mind and today, I feel brighter after a
long night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The reason why
I’m calling it the Dark Place and not the dark place is because it’s a ground
full of bad memories and sadness and grief. I’d read a book called Dark Places
by Gillian Flynn, which also is a movie, by the way, and she had used it
somehow and that had really struck a chord with me. Speaking of which, I always
have wanted to write a book. But I never found anything worth writing about. So
many things happening around me, so many people with so many stories inside
them, and still I didn’t feel like anything or anyone was worthy enough that
I’d write about them. I also didn’t want to write about sad stuff, yes, it’s
really appealing and people relate very much to it, but I don’t know any sadness
except the Dark Place and it’s really scary for me. So I never wrote about it;
never even told anyone. And I’d read somewhere, ‘The bigger the issue, the
smaller you write.’ So I really had given up on the idea of writing about my
Dark Place. Also, writing a book requires dedication and consistency, and I had
neither of it, nor did I feel like I was deep enough to write anything that
people will actually want to read, or will stick by with them. I had started a
lot of times, well, I’d at least tried, but I just couldn’t weave words to
resonate them into something meaningful. I felt I wrote rubbish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As I’m lost in
my thoughts, I see Sameer coming towards me. I get up and smile at him, and he
doesn’t, rendering me feeling stupid. Instead, he just comes up to me and asks
me, “What do you keep thinking so much about?” I’m flabbergasted at such a
question and it takes me a few seconds to process it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Why do you
ask?” I counter question him, the surprise clearly visible on my face, I guess.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“I passed
through here two times after I told you I’d run a round more, and both the
times, you were so lost in your thoughts, it seemed like you lost touch with
what’s happening around you.” He simply stated the fact, and I knew it was true
because I know I zone out many times even during the day. It was just my thing,
and I’m too lazy to zone back in so it takes a few moments to persuade myself
to come back to what’s real. And it would just happen, with no real or coherent
reason, so I don’t have any answer to give to Sameer. So I decide to stay mum,
like I’ve done for the most of the time that we’ve been together. He guesses
that maybe he got a little personal, so he apologizes and says that he didn’t
mean to intrude. I say that’s fine, but still am partly lost in my own world,
thinking about nothing in particular, just losing myself in incoherency.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As we are
about to leave, he asks me if I’d like to have tea. I bite my lower lip, and
breathe a little deeper, realizing the tip of my nose is still a little colder.
So I agree.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“There’s this
place I go to for tea, almost every day. It serves the best tea in the world.”
He looks excited. I smile, and we start walking again, a casual walk with
conversations.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“So, Alisha.
What do you do?” As these words escape his mouth, I feel my heartbeats race.
The <i>connection</i>, you see. This has
never happened to me before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Well, I’m a
teacher. I work at a study abroad institute, and am involved in a little admin
work, but mostly, the emphasis of my work is on teaching English, IELTS to be
more specific.” I say a complete sentence and instantly feel proud of myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Wow, that’s
something.” He smiles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“What about
you?” I ask, almost feeling liable to ask him the same question in return.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Sasha and
Joe’s. It’s a restaurant and I’m one of the three partners, but I’m a dormant
one, so don’t really have to participate in any work. I usually play guitar,
and read books, oh I love reading.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“So no job?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Perks of
having a rich father <i>and</i> an elder
brother.” He winks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I instantly
think of him as a spoiled brat, living off his father’s money, doing nothing
significant in life and spending time and money as if it’s nothing. I regret my
decision of walking with him, and talking to him, and now, agreeing to have tea
with him. The <i>connection</i>, I bet he
has had this connection with hundreds of women before me, and will have with
hundreds of them after me. Why did I have to like him at all? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Soon enough,
we reach this place he loves and while walking and talking to him, based on my
opinion, I’d assumed he’d take me to some rich people place, the one I’d not be
able to afford, but now that we reach there, I see it’s just a shack, with one
man doing all the work. I’d not expected this, and it actually relieves me that
this supposed brat might have a human side. A part of me also changes my
opinion and thinks that maybe I judged him a little too fast, I don’t know him
at all except for what he’s told me. I decide that I won’t conclude anything,
and let time do its work.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
We order two <i>cutting chai’s</i>, and sit on a wooden
bench that’s so fragile, that it seems would break. “Tell me something about
you then,” he says, “you seem deep.” I’m spellbound because of his
straightforwardness, how easily he says what he’s thinking. “What’s Alisha’s
story?<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“I don’t know
about that,” I say, “but I think a lot. Maybe that’s what made you think that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Maybe. What
do you think about?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“A lot of
things. Life, love, friendships, daily chores, and a million other things. Why
do you ask?” I ask him, realizing how I’m answering all of his questions with
ease, without thinking twice about whether or not I should say something. I
don’t have to think if I’ll say something inappropriate, or if this even was
the answer he was looking for. I just say.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
He looks at me
for a minute and smiles, as if thinking something. It makes me wonder how
someone can do that for a person like me. I’m shallow, and pathetic, and have a
very low opinion of myself, but I love myself too. Complete paradox, you see.
And it makes me feel weird and happy and confused at the same time, weird being
the dominant of all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I raise my
eyebrows, anticipating an answer but he just smiles and turns his head from
side to side, as if saying a no. His smile is nice. Only nice. I’m not even
exaggerating. He takes off his glasses and hangs them in his t-shirt, as he
sees our tea coming.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
We remain
silent for about five minutes, and it gets a little awkward, but he makes no
effort of lessening it, so I guess it’s my turn to say something now. My
thoughts race and think about what to say. I am really bad at this, I know.
Conversing with people has always been a weakness, certified conversation
killer, if you will. So I look here and there, and try to search for a topic to
talk about. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“So, Sameer
--” He cuts me, and thank God he does because I didn’t know what I would say
after his name. “Call me Sam.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Okay, so now
I’m supposed to call him Sam but what do I say to Sam? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Oh, okay,
Sam. Where do you stay?” I mumble, words barely escaping my mouth and feeling
inexplicably embarrassed. Why the hell can’t I say something coherent for once?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Just a block
away. And I bet you don’t stay in the neighbourhood or else I’d have known you,
at least by face. I can’t remember people’s names. It’s very annoying.” He
says.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Oh my God, it’s
the same with me. Remembering names is a challenge, I tell y<span style="text-indent: 36pt;">ou!” I exclaim a
little louder, getting excited.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 36pt;"><br></span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Oh, yes. And
you were, uh--?” He says, pretending not remembering my name and I playfully
punch him on his arm. It’s firm. <i>Why did
I have to do that?</i> I instantly regret and withdraw my hand, feeling a
little awkward.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Heh. I
remember your name of course, Alisha.” He smiles and looks at me, and takes the
first sip of his tea<i>. Oh, oh my.</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><br></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
He asks me if
I’m going to continue walking every day, or today was enough of an escapade to
me. I ask him if he comes every day, to which he says he does, but it gets
boring to wake up and come out so early all by himself, but no matter how
unwillingly, he does come, and he says so should I. So, we decide to meet 6.30
every morning at the gate of the track, and walk together every day. Seems like
a plan!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Once we’re
done with the tea, he pays and we start walking again. He’s a lot taller than
me, I barely reach his shoulder. I like him. It’s almost 8 and people have
started going to work and the day has started, and people have come out and the
street is now getting busy. I tell Sam I’ll see him the next morning. He
side-hugs me, but I feel almost enveloped in him because he is that big, but it
feels nice. Everything’s just nice, plain. I start walking towards my building,
but he calls me from behind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Alisha?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“Yeah?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“It was
really, really nice meeting you.” He says, running his fingers through his
hair, smiling from the left end of his lips. “I’ll see you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
“You too.” I
whisper, but he doesn’t hear it as he’s left by then.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
There’s this
unexplainable feeling in my heart, things have suddenly started to seem better
than ever. Today is going to be a good day, I say to myself and I realize that
it’s the first time I’ve ever said such a thing and that makes me happier than
I was a few moments ago. This guy’s got something. I just keep walking till I
reach my place. As I open the door with my keys, I hear my phone notify me of
something, but I’m not in the mood of people right now, because I’ve
experienced something extraordinary this morning. It’s not that I haven’t had
boyfriends before, but this guy is something different. I want to meet him
again, and I will. <i>Calm down, my dear,
dear heart!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<i><br></i></div>
<br>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I go in and
wake Misha up, and once she’s finally up, I tell her about Sam. She’s seeing
the difference in me and tells me that she’s happy that I’m happy, and we dance
on the bed with no music put on. Typical sister stuff. Then we go off to our
own respective lives, but what I don’t know is how much our lives are going to
change from this point.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br>
<br>
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Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-58675129507421318262019-01-06T06:48:00.000-08:002019-01-06T06:48:00.608-08:007 minutes - I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: justify;">
The Event.</h2>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
They say when
you die, you have 7 minutes of brain activity left. Your entire life flashes
before your eyes, like a slideshow. You see the things you have done, the
people you have loved, the ecstasies you have experienced and the tragedies you
have lived through. It’s a precision, really, everything but in a flash. You
don’t feel it being a flash though. All you do is simply relive your life
through the stages -- all the highs and lows -- concisely. You see the things
that made you, the things that broke you and everything in between. But mostly,
you see the happy faces of your beloveds: something that calms you even in your
last moments. I think everyone dies a satisfied death. A dying person doesn’t
hold any grudges, I guess, they let it go. That’s what I have heard until now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
ringing I hear is very loud. I lie on a hospital bed; sheets stained of blood.
There’s a sharp, shooting pain in my head. It seems that it would burst. The
stringing ache in my left arm and chest is unmistakable, I can feel the blood
dripping out. Every drop I lose makes me weaker and weaker. Things are blurry
and vague, but the doctors are trying, I can see. My breathing is becoming
heavier every passing moment. The pain that I feel right now is just too much
to bear for a single time. I don’t understand a thing that’s happening. A drop
of tear trickles down my eye, but I cannot feel the trace of it. I have become
numb, yet am as vulnerable as I can possibly be. It’s weird.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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All I can
think about is how much I don’t want to die. There are so many things I yet
have to do. I still have to make so many amends, I cannot even begin to tell. I
never even got to say my goodbyes. But the next thought that finds its way in
my mind is that no one really does. Life is so impermanent, yet we assume we
have forever. One’s life is the most extensive thing they experience, but it is
just ephemeral in cosmic terms. Everyone matters, but somehow, nobody does. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You die in the middle of your life, in the
middle of a sentence. </i>John Green never fails me. I smile in my head.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I hear the
sound of the machines around me and the doctor’s voice saying something but I
can’t quite figure out what. I open my eyes a wee bit more, but it seems like
it consumes all the energy I have left in me. I still cannot see clear. Near
the door, I see people standing. I can tell they’re crying. Despite the
loudness that’s deafening my ears, I can still make out the sobbing noises
coming from where they’re standing. I want to cry too, but this pain that I’m
in right now is making me incapable of doing so. Or maybe I’m even crying, I
don’t understand. Everything is hazy and I still lie on the bed, unable to
move, unable to feel. I don’t even feel my heart beating, or my lungs breathing
air. It seems I am on the verge of stopping, maybe I’ve even stopped. Have I?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
The one thing
I do understand is this experience – death. You hear people talk about it, you
read it in great books, you see it in award-winning movies, you even see people
die in front of you. But it is nothing like one can ever imagine. The feeling
of you just not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">being</i> after a few
moments is terrifying. Completely unexplainable. I think about what would be
more painful – dying yourself or dealing with the death of your loved one. I get
no answer. I don’t know what Sam, Mom and Dad, Misha and Jenny would do. How
would they deal if I don’t make it today? Suddenly, I feel even drowsier. My
eyes are closing and I struggle hard to keep them open. I’m passing out, maybe
because of the fluids being injected in my body or what, but what if I close
them now and never open them again? It’s horrible to even think about it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
Thinking about
dying doesn’t really help. So I decide to divert the course of my thoughts into
some other, happy direction. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Happy.</i> I
smirk in my mind. I think about books, my most favourite one being The Fault In
Our Stars, I think about Hazel and Augustus, I think about their love, their
numbered days; about people, and the first person who comes into my mind is my
mother, surprisingly, as I haven’t talked to her in forever; about places,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think about the little vacation Jenny,
Misha and I had taken and how wonderful it was; about love, about Sam and about
how better my life has been since the day I met him and how I never want to
lose him, but then I realize I’m going to lose everything and everyone today,
and they’re going to lose me, and somehow every thought integrates back to
dying, to me lying on this bed, with needles being pierced through my veins and
a burning sensation on the surface of my wounds. I didn’t want to admit it
before, but I am scared. All I want is one chance, one tiny opportunity to take
my loved ones into my embrace and tell them that despite everything, I love
them. But that seems undoable now. My heart somehow sinks at this thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I try to think
of my happy place – Sam and I in our living room, cuddling, watching some
random show on television, talking about nothing in particular but everything
in the world. I love being with him. I remember fighting with him over silly things
and teasing him until I’d see him lash out on me and me laughing so darn hard
at how his face would get red due to irritation and anger, and we’d just run
around in the house and cuddle later. I loved kissing that face. I still love
kissing that face, if only I get a chance. . . <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s peace with him. Once in a while, he’d
always kiss my forehead, and I loved it. It always has been a gesture of the
love we have for each other. When I’m with him, I never want to be anywhere
else. But right now, I know I actually am somewhere else, trying to search for
that calmness, that peace in my thoughts, and with this, reality hits back. My
lungs have become incapable of holding any air inside and I have started
palpitating. This is it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Is this… it? </i>I
don’t want to die. This time I feel the tears that escape my eyes crawl through
the sides of my cheek, over the sides of my neck and hit the pillowcase under
my head, it becoming instantly moist. I grasp for air, but I cannot. I clench
my fists, holding the sheets and with it, I feel done.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
So this is
death, I think. Suddenly everything has quietened down. Moments ago, everything
was so loud and now, it’s all just so dead silent that I cannot bear the sound
of that. I want to breathe again. I want to live again. I’ve had a lot of
thoughts about not wanting to live all my life, but I’ve learnt my lesson now,
I was wrong. I do want to live, to love, to be. Is a second chance too much to
ask for from life? How the hell am I thinking if I’m dead? Maybe, they’re
right. People have souls. Maybe this is my soul thinking, hoping, wanting to
live but nothing makes sense to me. Everything just seems to have stopped,
inclusive of me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
I feel no pain
anymore. My eyes are open, but things are getting dark until I can’t see
anything. The hospital ceiling seems to get murky, and I feel it slipping. I
feel myself slipping through my hands and after a certain point, I am gone. I’m
here, but I’m gone somehow. I don’t hear the sounds of the doctors screaming,
or that of people crying, or the machines around me beeping endlessly which
were so loud a few minutes ago that it felt like my ears would bleed but now,
there’s none of it anymore. Nothing. A dark void stretches itself infinitely
before my eyes, and even though I’m not, I feel like I’m blinking, and it feels
like I can move again. It suddenly gives me hope. I can turn my head and move
my hands and my legs and I can breathe but I can’t see anything. Why can’t I
see anything?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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It seems like I’m
walking through a void, I see no ground, no path, no sky, nothing. Everything
is pitch black and as usual, I have no idea what’s happening. I rarely know
what I’m doing anyway, half the time I’m just as clueless. I think if I ever
wake up, I’ll write about it. So authentic, I tell you. But right now, I’m
afraid I will stumble and trip because nothing’s visible. Or maybe it’s not
that I’m not able to see anything, there’s just nothing to see. This isn’t
painful, but fearsome. I keep walking anyway, just to get out of it. I feel
like it’s just in my head, but I still have to get out of it somehow. I don’t want
to be stuck here for all eternity, if I, in fact, have died. This is a weird
place. I have to get rid of this place because I want to see my people for the
last time, maybe yes, maybe that is going to be the last time because I do
remember the hospital and the bleeding and the not being able to breathe and
the pain as well. I remember giving up hope and dying. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
As I move
ahead, I start seeing a light, literally the light at the end of the tunnel. I
feel a little hopeful, and I wonder how I can still feel things in my dead
heart. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Am I really dead?</i> Well, it
doesn’t matter because I am seeing a way out right in front of my eyes. I start
running towards the dazzle, and the closer I get to it, the more I feel it
piercing my eyes. I keep running anyway until I reach the source and until my
eyes can’t hold the light anymore. It seems like I’d disappear into the
brightness so I cover my eyes with my bare hands, and wait for what seems to be
an infinite amount of time. Suddenly when the illumination seems to have lessened,
I open my eyes back.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-54989421994331805502018-08-18T05:40:00.001-07:002018-08-18T05:40:59.846-07:00I know you.<p dir="ltr">Hi there,</p>
<p dir="ltr">Probably we have never talked or met. I don't know your story. I don't know what you are up to. I don't know what you do, or where you live, or anything else about you. </p>
<p dir="ltr">But I know, when night dawns upon the earth, you let out a heavy, tired sigh. You think you are all alone. Days are long, and you get through them somehow. It's not like you don't have friends, you do. But there's a lot inside you that they have no idea about. You are all smiles throughout, and you don't brush away the chances you get to socialize. You're always in. But it tires you, doesn't it? Being around people who know you, and yet somehow don't. They know the pretty face of you: the smile and laugh and all that you show. The mask, yes, that's all they know and they have no idea there's more to you. But you know, it isn't their fault. You don't show it, because you think they won't understand. Or because you feel it's a super big deal, letting someone inside your little shell. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Your shell: where you are you and no one else exists. A place where you drift off​ at times during the day, zoning out of your life. Your happy place. And even though you are alone there, you don't feel so. But being surrounded by people all day? Yes, that's what loneliness feels like. You have already decided to struggle. One day at a time. To fight against-</p>
<p dir="ltr">You. You are whom you fight against. You are your greatest friend, and your worst enemy. You are what makes you happy and you are what deprives you of it. You are strange, you think. You don't fit into this world, this world that never stops. You don't talk about what you feel because you think it'll make you feel it even more. So finally when the day is over, you sigh not because you didn't have a good one, but because the struggle for today is done. There's a new day tomorrow, new sunshine, new... A new struggle. It's tiresome, it drains you out. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Nights are peaceful, aren't they? The world slows down, quietens down, and you are your company. At times, you grieve and cry and let it out, but the others, when you yourself have no idea of what you feel, they're the hardest ones. Numbness surrounds you and you don't know what to feel. You make up poems and songs and sketches and try to create something in the form of art because that's what you do. To let things out, to free yourself from the burden that you have on your heart. You create art. </p>
<p dir="ltr">People even appreciate it but they don't know the wounds that you reveal through your art. There are some people who even think that they have you all figured out, and why wouldn't they? You don't show the depth of your feelings to them. People who are your friends, are not really friends, they're mere acquaintances because you're too scared to let anyone come close to you. You listen to what they talk and what they vent but you never say a word about yourself. It's all just inside.</p>
<p dir="ltr">You think nobody knows you. But you're wrong. I do. I know you.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-85453266170703669382018-06-25T03:29:00.001-07:002018-06-26T06:01:38.402-07:00Unnoticed<p dir="ltr">She had a twinkle in her eye, the kind you'd not notice unless you stare into it. Standing alone, she clutched a book in her hands: holding it against her chest, almost hugging it. In the crowd of thousands, she'd easily go unnoticed because she wasn't the prettiest one around, or the best dressed, or the one who'd say something mind-blowing that'd stick by you through tomorrow and even after that. In fact, she looked the exact opposite. She was unapologetic: even though she was a mess, she owned every part of it, and all her attributes simply accentuated it. Her unmade hair, her clumsy demeanor, her long-strained, sleep-deprived eyes, everything made her who she is, and I, I just looked at her from a distance as she stared into blankness. </p>
<p dir="ltr">She sighed a lot, I observed. Was she tired? Maybe, but of what? Each time she breathed, her eyes seemed to startle, yet focusing the stare into her blankness firmly. When she exhaled, her lips parted a little, almost alternatively. She stood fixated, unmoving, undecided. It was a treat to watch her though. My eyes seemed to have locked themselves on her.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Time and again, it seemed like she almost realized to have zoned out, and she'd try and come back to the present moment, but I reckon she must've drifted off too far to return to now. She looked like the one who'd be really shy in large crowds of mere acquaintances; what she craves is a soul connection. She'd look up and around oftentimes, maybe when she'd try to come to right now, but her thoughts seemed to catch up fast and grasp her back. She was lost. She was the girl who you'd easily miss out on, but once you did see her, you'd not want to look anywhere else. She had the charisma, I think she'd keep you hooked once you start a conversation with her. But would you be able to say anything when you know those eyes that are so lost right now would be looking into yours? I wonder.</p>
<p dir="ltr">She was the girl who'd go unnoticed, because you'd always hear the loudest person in the room, but in her head, I bet she has things louder than that going on, and someday she'll find people who'd be intrigued, and one day, she will be heard.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I wanted to go near her, towards her, try to get to know her, maybe strike a conversation: hear her voice. It was strange, she didn't look like someone who'd participate in a talk with some random stranger like me; but it wasn't like that. She'd gotten me hooked. I imagined me going up to her and her looking at me, her eyes throwing some magical invisible light at me, emancipating me from everything with just that one look. But I decided against it; just watching her was so pure, I couldn't taint it with reality. I looked at her for the last time, tried to capture the image of her face in my memories, and walked away.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNoKR44fcchMLhN1J58GWXf7P73UaruOx1JsdPs5UsAcs-9zZ_ls7nYjqGUygyWRoMov_uTbNXzHJL2kQs2Ju3Rv6Y4p8yKxyIjTvNheh1zSaVH-NXBz082tnk2n-zMfx5x768UNDy8Y/s1600/Screenshot_20180625-155812_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiNoKR44fcchMLhN1J58GWXf7P73UaruOx1JsdPs5UsAcs-9zZ_ls7nYjqGUygyWRoMov_uTbNXzHJL2kQs2Ju3Rv6Y4p8yKxyIjTvNheh1zSaVH-NXBz082tnk2n-zMfx5x768UNDy8Y/s640/Screenshot_20180625-155812_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-36079808576864474022018-04-05T12:42:00.000-07:002018-04-20T13:30:49.220-07:00A fable<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr">I look at my blue shoes as I walk, with earphones put up, some random music playing so loud that it disconnects me from the world. It's day-time, burning hot, beads of sweat are dripping past my left eyebrow. I don't like summers.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">Mindlessly, I look around as I reach the bus stop. The crowd is usual, all the known faces staring at each other, trying to make decent small talks that I'm not a part of. I'm not really interested in talking to anyone here, it's too mainstream and I'm too lazy. Pointless conversations seem to bore me. All I want to avoid is normalcy; I want something extraordinary, something epic that I'll be a part of. As I'm lost in my thoughts, scanning every face, I see him.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">He's wearing a beanie, has rather long hair for a guy, and has put on a loose t-shirt and a track pant. He doesn't look quite aware of the people around him, and neither is anyone else there affected by his presence. He's standing alone. He looks visibly uncomfortable and itchy; something must be bothering him. I want to ask him but I don't -- I don't have the guts to do so. He's a stranger and I cannot just walk up to him and ask him what's wrong. Maybe I could, but I don't want to. I'm scared. He has pretty, green eyes that sparkle a little as he looks up and around, but most of the time he's just staring at the ground, maybe thinking something too hard. His eyebrows often seem to rise and in turn creases form on his forehead, and that actually makes him look really adorable.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">I realise I'm staring at him, so I look away. I think he saw me looking at him. It's awkward, as I think we'll board the same bus. I just hope he doesn't come up to me and talk. I don't want to be babbling the first time I talk to a guy I found cute in ages.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">I'm this socially awkward person, really uncomfortable in groups. I can talk one-to-one very easily, but this guy is really cute. That's exactly where my anxiety kicks in, making it rather difficult for me to utter one single meaningful, comprehensible sentence out of my damned mouth. I'm not holding myself back; it's just that I can't.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">My mind races about how much I really liked the guy even though he was caught up all in himself, and how much I want to go up to him and talk to him, but my feet seem to have locked themselves to the ground, making me helplessly unable to move. Even though I feel like going up to him, I decide against it.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">My bus arrives and I get on, but he doesn't. My heart sinks, I really wished he'd come aboard, but that's okay. I'll probably never see him again and he'll just be a story I'd tell my friends someday. He stares at the bus as it goes by, and I look at him until I can't see him anymore. Later I feel like I was creepy, but what's done is done and I can't change that. Neither am I going to meet him ever again, so it doesn't really matter. I'm very convenient that way.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"> ***</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">The next day, I'm hoping I don't see him again, considering the obvious fact that I made a fool out of myself the last time. He would think I'm an idiot, which I actually am, but I don't like to confront it through other people. A part of me also wants to see him, why would I not want to see a perfectly amazing person like him? But I'm reluctant to face him, when I'm not even sure if I'm even going to face him or not, and it's just weird.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">I walk up to the bus stop hesitantly. I look around, I don't see him. As I'm about to let out a relieved sigh, I spot him, making it really confusing for me as to if I should be happy about it or no. He looks exactly like he did the last time, same clothes, the beanie, confused look concentrated on the ground.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">'Shit!' I mumble and look here and there, to find something to hide behind. He shouldn't see me today, not today -- at any cost. I'll let a few days pass and he'd forget me, and then I can start all over again with no previous embarrassment. But there's nothing -- nothing I can hide behind, nobody I can talk to. I take out my phone and pretend to be busy on it, when I'm not even sure if he's even looking at me, let alone if he remembers me as the girl from yesterday.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">But what the hell, right? So what if he remembers me? I have to take chances in life, how else will the extraordinary stuff I’m missing out on right now happen to me? I deep breathe, which doesn’t help at all, and I decide I’m going to go talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen? ‘He could hear me.’ Monica’s words sound in my mind like a reflex, and I giggle.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">But I’ve decided now. That’s it, I’m going to talk. I gather all the courage I have from every fibre that is there in my body and start walking in his direction. He’s still busy staring at the ground. My heartbeats pace up with every step I take ahead, and despite the loud cacophony, I can hear the thuds of it.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">I reach up to him – he’s standing right in front of me, and I’m too nervous, and I know I’m going to do what I do best – blabber. I’m still not giving up though. I muster up all my valour, and I’m surprised at how painfully weird my voice sounds when I say –</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">“Hi, I’m Alisha. I just happened to see you yesterday and I was hoping we could talk but you didn’t get on the --”</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">He cuts me off with a dead look on his face as he looks up to me from the ground, aghast. To make sure I'm talking to him, he looks behind him and then again at me, and I point a finger towards him as to confirm it for him that it is, in fact, him who I'm talking to. His green eyes reflect the sunlight from the afternoon skies, and he looks at me with perplexed expressions and total horror.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr">“You shouldn’t be able to see me.” He finally says.</div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div><div dir="ltr"><br></div></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9iTTslBH5rbDjvSVIT4QMlIFPiDEtOAl-xJ0Wz57yrEBTPTarkUpGKyqOby4poGJUHK52MTzzGYILjltNp04gza_Hguk7_WghyMY4nwrZMMTHpmsn6LkQrh6dGM1jlQ5dgaNLWhgFnCk/s1600/Screenshot_20180421-015929_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9iTTslBH5rbDjvSVIT4QMlIFPiDEtOAl-xJ0Wz57yrEBTPTarkUpGKyqOby4poGJUHK52MTzzGYILjltNp04gza_Hguk7_WghyMY4nwrZMMTHpmsn6LkQrh6dGM1jlQ5dgaNLWhgFnCk/s640/Screenshot_20180421-015929_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-14927376826524233702018-03-29T17:40:00.001-07:002018-04-05T10:31:04.696-07:00Transition<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr">
Up above, all I see is darkness. It's so painfully beautiful -- the moon shines bright, waning crescent, almost full. There are millions of stars shining submissively as the moon takes up the show, but there's one star in particular that somehow doesn't lose itself in the populace. At considerable distances, they flicker constantly, nearly perfecting an illusion. You just cannot concentrate on all the gleaming at once. These stars, they shine in shades of white. They shimmer sheepishly, very unsteady, but it looks peaceful. It's such solitude in just laying back and looking up to the sky, with beauty dripping from the dark. The sky looks like a black canvas with glittery white paint splatters all over it, making it an ultimate masterpiece. Night sky, I tell you, is pure art.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
It's like the sky is trying to embrace you in its arms, you feel the solace you'd feel in a lover's arms, absolute. It's as though it's trying to tell you the secret of everything, and even though you don't understand it, you know that you know it now.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
The night is almost over; the moon has almost set now, breaking the dawn. The darkness seems to have lessened too, it's getting brighter now. People have started coming out, some walking, some on bikes. In the near buildings, I can see lights being turned on. The day is officially beginning. But there's some weird scare in letting go of the moon, the night, the darkness. It's almost slipping away, and I can't hold it. That's what scares, I can't hold on to it, but the dawn is every bit as beautiful as the intense dark night, and the day is on. The sky feels lonely without the moon, almost as if the stars would miss it.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
The sun is going to rise soon, the anticipations have started. It seems as if the black canvas has its edges smudged by a dash of orange now, and it's spreading. In the distant background, I hear the barking of the dogs, the chirping of the birds, and also vague but noticeable noises of the very few vehicles that are out on the road.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
The sky is now turning an undetermined shade of blue as well, beauty peaking top. It's as if the sky's now divided in two parts -- one side, it's still dark, the stars are still shining, fighting the light that's coming from the other side of it, where the day is about to break, making the stars at that side of sky disappear.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
It's all in various shades of only blue now, ranging deeper in intensity as my sight moves from east to west. And before I know it, it's day. The sun has started to rise, a chill's filled in the atmosphere, and the darkness has completely vanished, as if it was never there. Instead of the bright, vibrant moon, now I see a fulfilling, lively sun, and the only thing I learn from this is letting go ain't so bad, because every end is another beginning, and every beginning can be as beautiful as the dawn breaking into the day.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikscSmA7KTkSjYiJffofHpiT9fWB-RI58R1oawIRPxL38nrFsr_dKPsN_V0UjZ_Qq31vHEVi_VT8Wie67xGlh0Xd5um0ExymaF0p122WPUBL7U7owQC-2AR9kzOUSs8Xw62k0vZZjjyAE/s1600/Screenshot_20180330-060303_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikscSmA7KTkSjYiJffofHpiT9fWB-RI58R1oawIRPxL38nrFsr_dKPsN_V0UjZ_Qq31vHEVi_VT8Wie67xGlh0Xd5um0ExymaF0p122WPUBL7U7owQC-2AR9kzOUSs8Xw62k0vZZjjyAE/s640/Screenshot_20180330-060303_1.jpg" /> </a> </div>
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Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-37987998834855333472018-03-17T09:21:00.001-07:002018-03-17T22:10:00.576-07:00Beyond words.<p dir="ltr">Hi, </p>
<p dir="ltr">I know we have just met. I know we haven't known each other for that long. There are millions of things we still have to discover about each other, I know we're still almost strangers who happen to know each other just a little.</p>
<p dir="ltr">But, oh! My life has changed drastically since I met you. For good, of course. You made me realize the simple fact that after every dark night, the day dawns and its every bit can be as beautiful as you believe it to be. It's funny how someone can have a such a deep impact on me in the so very little time that we've known each other.</p>
<p dir="ltr">You came into my life when I was an absolute mess, had hit the rock bottom, but knowing you has made me see that the only way to go from a rock bottom is up. You've been with me when I was finding myself, in the most inconvenient circumstances. And there are no words that can encompass the intensity of my gratefulness. </p>
<p dir="ltr">You get me, there's no other way to put it. I can be me when I'm with you and you'll know. There's no pretending to be good when I'm not, no holding back. Life has become beautiful because of your presence, for when I'm with you, I'm more me. I laugh more when with you.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It's probably a very cliché thing to say but I really thank my stars that made me come across someone as extraordinary as you. You've been my light through the dark, the colors on the canvas of my life, because without you, I was just plain. You came and made me the art I have become today. You've added joy to my being, happiness to my heart. I'm a better person with and because of you. Everything I do or don't do is just an attempt of showing you how much you mean to me because lately, what I'm feeling for you is beyond words, yet I'm trying to gather some and make sense out of it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">When I look at you, I see strength. I see the person who always pushes me beyond my limits because you believe in me. And you've believed in me when even I didn't. I am what I am because of you. I have transcended beyond my grief and let go of things that were poking me just because I knew you'd be there to catch me when I fall. And look how I fell -- for you!</p>
<p dir="ltr">"You're my living, breathing, screaming invitation to believe in better things." You've revived me. You made me feel connected -- to the world, to you, to myself somehow. I feel eternal and full of energy because of you. You made me believe that the ones who want to will always climb the walls I've built around myself, no matter how tall those are. I was the person who always just wanted to be done with the day, but now, here I am, hoping and looking forward to a new day, every day, with you by my side. I don't intend for this to get all cheesy but that's all I can do, all I have is words. And I won't let go. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I have happy 3 ams because of you now, when in the past, I used to be drenched in my tears and agony. You healed me in places I thought I'd have wounds forever. You're my adventure, and also my calm. You have been the one thing I have done right in my life, and no matter how much I write, I don't think I'll ever put things I feel in my heart into words.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It all comes down to this -- I am me because you have been you. </p>
<p dir="ltr">- Someone who loves you.<br><br></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLQTTNkyAMxI_SHBPtcrbVA74qs4KI1-mTewc4NIkLqEg2cjPIXUbbY_h9itRLkVMJvx5-ra3176yfEIDjnok13zO3GrlfX_q1UldGRhs6mkv0baEtcnEPppusv6YAMf6ij1TF0AUs2MM/s1600/Screenshot_20180317-215027_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLQTTNkyAMxI_SHBPtcrbVA74qs4KI1-mTewc4NIkLqEg2cjPIXUbbY_h9itRLkVMJvx5-ra3176yfEIDjnok13zO3GrlfX_q1UldGRhs6mkv0baEtcnEPppusv6YAMf6ij1TF0AUs2MM/s640/Screenshot_20180317-215027_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-9243850317498069302018-03-05T03:12:00.001-08:002018-03-05T03:12:17.475-08:00I'm not the girl people fall in love with.<p dir="ltr">A stupid, desperate attempt to write a poem. Here it goes.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I won't say I'm not beautiful, because I am, but in a different way.<br>
I will make your insides whirl but won't let you have a say.<br>
I'll make you think, I'll make you cry.<br>
I'll play with words, you'll know I'm sly.<br>
I'll be your spring, and also your rain.<br>
I'll be your cure, but also your pain.<br>
I'm not like her, I'll never be.<br>
... Maybe I'm not the girl people fall in love with.</p>
<p dir="ltr">You'd forget the world when you're with me.<br>
I'll give you strength, but you'll go weak in your knee.<br>
Fierce and powerful, my love you'll see.<br>
I'm a lone wolf, that's how I'll always be.<br>
My words like fragrance will stick by.<br>
Once you drown in my truth, you won't lie.<br>
See? I'm not like her, I'll never be.<br>
... Maybe I'm not the girl people fall in love with.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My words like arrows will hit your heart.<br>
Your soul will churn, like pricked by a dart.<br>
I'll be your rainbow, even on your sunny days.<br>
You'll see how I'll love you, in a million ways.<br>
I'll kiss your scars, then scratch them more.<br>
Then I'll be your band-aid, stick to the core.<br>
I'm still not like her, I'll never be.<br>
... Maybe I'm not the girl people fall in love with.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Even after long, in your memories I'll stay.<br>
I'll shine bright, like the day's first sun ray.<br>
I'll run my hand through your hair,<br>
You'll love me, but you will be scared.<br>
Half the time, you'll skip a beat,<br>
When we'll be one, you'll feel my heat.<br>
Am I like her yet? You know I'll never be.<br>
... Maybe I'm not the girl people fall in love with. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFVwEY8eiuRnAJgf-Bg9bi06WpY0gvpjOZgNd5CVHg66GTVpeX2FK7wy32W4cM39lc2DXQb3BWseHNhy5pW9Qg2u3QqFqj4EmOgyEOUur6iLEPwHp6KH3kmFRglAWL6UtJ3mIXOBG8foY/s1600/Screenshot_20180305-164131_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFVwEY8eiuRnAJgf-Bg9bi06WpY0gvpjOZgNd5CVHg66GTVpeX2FK7wy32W4cM39lc2DXQb3BWseHNhy5pW9Qg2u3QqFqj4EmOgyEOUur6iLEPwHp6KH3kmFRglAWL6UtJ3mIXOBG8foY/s640/Screenshot_20180305-164131_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-39961292193563820562018-02-28T11:30:00.001-08:002018-02-28T11:30:17.334-08:00Bit by bit<p dir="ltr">They say falling in love sweeps you off your feet, and it's all sparks and fireworks, and you're just so very taken over by them, and it's all fierceness and passion. It's all butterflies in the belly and go weak in your knee kind of feeling.</p>
<p dir="ltr">That, no doubt, is an amazing feeling, but nobody talks about the love you gradually fall into. You start seeing the humour in their bad jokes, the intellect in their show off, the wit in their puns.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Slowly, you start noticing things you didn't pay attention to before, like the color of their eyes, the way their lips curve, the way they eat, talk, smell, be. You realize how blind you were to miss out on something as extraordinary as this.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It's the best kind of love, I think. You discover each other, there's friendship. There's a connection that grows deeper with time as you explore them, get to know them -- bit by bit. This love, you don't fall in; you walk into it, in all your senses and sobriety, and then your world turns upside down because you realize you have gotten something you never expected. Something so powerful, it defies words.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-55120595722199739832018-01-29T08:06:00.001-08:002018-01-29T08:06:16.347-08:00Now that -<p dir="ltr">Now that you're gone, I find myself searching for you in every person I meet. My eyes long for just a glance of your reflection in someone- anyone, but I don't find it. My heart is untamed but it still is caged in your memories, the ones you left me with, devoid of you, devoid of your love. I'm a strong person but now that I'm alone, that's just something I have to be. Because I wouldn't know what to be, if not strong. I show resilient, because why the hell not? I am fucking resilient but you, YOU don't go away. Somehow you're stuck in that part of my heart which I've locked forever, without realizing you're still in it. And now I realize that's a terrible mistake I made, because now that you're no longer in my life, having you in my heart fucks me up. I don't even think about you, because that's a barrier I've put up for myself, but when I do, I pour. I over-flow because I always have had the habit of being too much, giving too much, wanting too much, feeling too much, but now that I'm left with so little of me for myself, I wish I'd not been too much for you, because you've consumed me. You've consumed me in an incomprehensible way, something even I don't understand. I never ask why you broke me, because I don't regret you, because if I do, I'd hate you and I don't want to, but now that I think about you, I think you deserve all the hate. I should hate you and curse you and curse the world and everything and everyone, but I just don't. I hate the fact that I don't hate you. I hate the fact that I still have that soft spot for you in my dead heart even after you put me through so much. I wait for days for you to drop a text saying you miss me, or a call you'd say you dialled by mistake but it'd be just because you wanted to hear the sound of my voice, maybe you'd show up someday at my doorstep, saying you're sorry, asking for my forgiveness for what you did to me, but now that I imagine it, I feel I don't want you to do any of it. I don't want you back in my life because I'm out of what was devouring me for once, why'd I ever want to do that to myself again? I've been through hell and back but now that I'm here, I think it's just made me stronger, better. And maybe I needed to break, to be whole again, picking up all my pieces and forming my own perfect jigsaw again with all the pieces, none missing. Not even you because now that I know you're not mine anymore, I realize you never were.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTsa2gSaLvnu-F9R3RHUQ7VDTG5pokoB6V7BvbHSkmjKkIP3s2I-HCwBCRqdUlHk3d72jkgcZ45aOpVTADmPUGfX2Y4Yg6cZEBtcsz-mGcWyJ3UXVXzX5HgfF5cXcoMtFB4AhR_XsfKo/s1600/Screenshot_20180129-213531_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWTsa2gSaLvnu-F9R3RHUQ7VDTG5pokoB6V7BvbHSkmjKkIP3s2I-HCwBCRqdUlHk3d72jkgcZ45aOpVTADmPUGfX2Y4Yg6cZEBtcsz-mGcWyJ3UXVXzX5HgfF5cXcoMtFB4AhR_XsfKo/s640/Screenshot_20180129-213531_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-55137021603214426132017-12-28T07:42:00.001-08:002017-12-28T07:42:09.287-08:00Dear long distance best friend,<p dir="ltr">Dear long distance best friend,</p>
<p dir="ltr">You know who you are. This is to you, to us, and to the amazing friendship we share that has nothing but strengthened over the years. Cheers.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I was the person who didn't believe in friendships. Solitude was all I seeked because people seemed annoying. I was reluctant making friends here, and so the thought of befriending someone so far away from me was distant. Then you happened.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I had thought internet friendships would be easy, it wouldn't involve meeting up and hanging out and being at each others' constant beck and call. It would not involve all the regular stuff, and that's why it'd be less complicated and more interesting. Being the introvert I am, it seemed the ideal friendship to me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Years passed by and things didn't seem to deteriorate. They enhanced my life instead. Your friendship has brought out the patient side in me, because sometimes all I want to do is run to you and hug you tight and never let you go because you are my person. Yes, you're my person. You're the one who knows me inside out, all that I show and don't show to the world, all that I am and am not, all that I want and don't want to be, you know everything and you don't judge me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">You give me life lessons and advices I can't help but follow. Neither of us are perfect people, but you've complemented me in such a way that you overshadow my imperfections and make me feel complete again. I don't know what I have possibly done to deserve your friendship. You're the best.</p>
<p dir="ltr">You're a part of me; I'm not whole without you. You're the person I'd turn to if I face a life crisis. You're the one who I'll trust enough to show my hidden self, the one nobody knows exists. I sometimes wonder, how the hell did we even get so close? </p>
<p dir="ltr">I just wanted to tell you that you matter. You're amazing and I'm never letting you go for anybody in this world. Like Phoebe had once said, "boyfriends and girlfriends are going to come and go, but <b><i>this</i></b> is for life." </p>
<p dir="ltr">You're my best friend, and I know it's a really cheesily weird thing to say, but you are. And I love you. You're my favorite human, now and always. And you're not allowed to love anyone else more than me, alright?</p>
<p dir="ltr">There is only one reason to be in each others' lives when we stay so far away, and that is we <b><i>want</i></b> to be in each others' lives. I'm not shying out from taking any efforts because I want us to be friends forever. All the things we've shared till today, all the happy and sad moments, all the jokes and of course, memes, it just means too much to me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">You're my 2 am friend, when I'm breaking down so bad that only someone as close as you to me can fix me. You're also my 2 pm friend when I'm hanging out with people here, or I'm busy with my work. You're mine, okay? </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm the kind of person who doesn't want to meet up with people but meeting you is something that I'm looking forward to. You better feel special, and come to meet me soon.</p>
<p dir="ltr">No matter what happens, no matter where we are, no matter what the circumstances, I'm always going to be there for and with you. Even though I cannot give you a shoulder then and there, or I cannot hug you to make you feel better when you're low, you know that I'm just a call away. I'll drop everything and I'll be there for you, I promise. You've been with me in my hard times and good times, and I promise to be with you too. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I am out of words, but everything comes down to the simple fact that I love you. You're the best person I could ever ask for, and I'm never letting you go.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Your best friend in all times,<br>
Me.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCRVYY9dqDNK1RhEFUQyO87C7GZ7Za7glrb5-2l_1shQ5NQG46rMND8tv-mVVIgbqj_5Ke1l3QxIQH-DQWpSAeia3sMRPRGz3e_K9XSbyOHZKvmShnOYSs3EG15cioagPWK4CnviMhIA/s1600/Screenshot_20171228-210702_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCRVYY9dqDNK1RhEFUQyO87C7GZ7Za7glrb5-2l_1shQ5NQG46rMND8tv-mVVIgbqj_5Ke1l3QxIQH-DQWpSAeia3sMRPRGz3e_K9XSbyOHZKvmShnOYSs3EG15cioagPWK4CnviMhIA/s640/Screenshot_20171228-210702_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-1324903470097542372017-12-13T05:38:00.001-08:002017-12-14T09:12:47.701-08:00The Girl In The Mirror<p dir="ltr">Dear girl in the mirror,</p><p dir="ltr"><br></p><p dir="ltr">I see you standing right in front of me. You're smiling right now. You've had a pretty amazing day and you've had fun and enjoyed and everything, but now is the time you're taking off that mask slowly. As the first layer comes off, I see you almost equally smiling, just a shred less than before but that might even go unnoticed if I weren't you. The second layer's erasure shows a little more of You - Me. As the layers keep coming off, the vibrant smile seems to fade and the skin starts to look pale, almost dry, still somehow dampened by your own tears. When the final layer comes off, you break down. Tears stream down your face and you cover your mouth with your hand because you're afraid of making any noise so as to not make others worried but what you don't understand is that I see you. You sigh a deep sigh and the first words that leave your mouth sound like "I love him," sharply and alternatively, very smartly emphasizing on 'love' as well as 'him.' <br>
Heartbreak is so overrated, I would think, it wouldn't be such a big deal that people bleed poetries and weave words to resonate with its intensity and meaning. Love, I thought, was something only idiots felt. How can someone be so important to you that you tend to be so taken over by them that you forget yourself? How does one value someone so much that they tend to crash down and stop functioning without them? How is that even possible to consider someone so worthy that you defy your own self and your entire set of beliefs for that one single person? Wait till you fall head over heels with somebody, and now I understand the depth of the pain. Well I still think the same, heartbreaks are overrated, but there's a reason why. I see you crying and crashing down in front of me and I understand the reason. <br>
"What if I never get over him? What if I'm never able to love anyone else ever again? Will I even be okay some day, or will I just get used to the pain?" You ask me, looking straight into my eyes, and I calmly just stay mum, because I have no answer to give you. I know this isn't how it will be and I know you'll love again and live again, but I don't say it because even though you ask me and want me to answer you, I know you won't believe a word of what I say. I see you so submerged in your pain and tears that aren't seeming to stop, that you won't trust me for any optimistic opportunity. <br>
How will I even trust again? You think.<br>
How will I ever love again? You will. <br>
How will I ever be okay? Well, I can't say that.<br>
Hey, girl in the mirror, I hear you say you feel a hole in your gut, and you feel it expanding too, and that it feels like one day, it'll get even bigger than you. I know it's not possible but you say that and I hear you. It never stops hurting, does it? You always remember the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke, the way he grinned with his tongue between his teeth, the way your heart always skipped a beat when he held you, everything, all that's happened between you, it all makes you feel a little more miserable than the last time. You love him, and your heart may never accept the fact that you'll never get to be with him, but I see you everyday in this mirror, and I know you're getting better and better, and I know one day, you'll heal. I like to believe that.</p><p dir="ltr"><br></p><p dir="ltr">Love, </p><p dir="ltr">The girl on the other side.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6XB2BCIMxEc9BnDlHzPzRmwMLLkgRwOonCdCk9-joItOUBs1BOV0lkG5XoP84KT0J-6Udiiad4OX0pqfa_pAeXoJ70JVUhbzVwgNRGPeqfvK9d-wM1-A2m-iT2hVlWRFGEiE63tnPeZw/s1600/Screenshot_20171213-190744_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6XB2BCIMxEc9BnDlHzPzRmwMLLkgRwOonCdCk9-joItOUBs1BOV0lkG5XoP84KT0J-6Udiiad4OX0pqfa_pAeXoJ70JVUhbzVwgNRGPeqfvK9d-wM1-A2m-iT2hVlWRFGEiE63tnPeZw/s640/Screenshot_20171213-190744_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-13055193286424477732017-11-13T11:26:00.001-08:002018-01-16T05:33:17.086-08:00The Obscured<p dir="ltr">Hi there,</p>
<p dir="ltr">How are you? Is life treating you well enough to even <i>want</i> to live, or is it giving you a hard time like always? I've seen all the good and bad times with you, you know.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I see you everyday. I know the things you did and still do, the things you feel. I observe the person you were, are and the one you're turning into. I can very well see what's happening.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Recently, you know what I realised? I'm an outcast to you. Despite the wee fact that I am what and because you are, despite that we share a body, a soul, a mind; despite me being you, I feel like a foreigner to you, sometimes feeling like I don't know you at all. And I am taking a wild guess here, but you don't really like me, maybe. I'm the dark part of you, the void in your heart, the hole in your gut. I'm the bystander who just silently witnesses the fallouts that happen in your life. Probably you are not at fault, but darling, neither am I.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm just as helpless as you become because of me. I sometimes really wish to make it better for you by simply disappearing somewhere - making you feel whole again. You so desperately want to get rid of me, I see that. But what you fail to understand is I'm a part of you. If you lose me, you'll lose a little of yourself, how will you be whole again then? We are one, you see. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I see you take countless efforts to just fill me somehow. You try to do the things you used to like doing, go to places you used to like going to, meet up with people you used to enjoy being with, all before I happened. But I still rest as unfilled and empty as always. I understand, I'm what makes you real, I'm what makes you vulnerable. I'm the dark part, I know, but I can be just as comforting as the light, given a chance.</p>
<p dir="ltr">All your - <i>our</i> - life, you've hated me because I actually make you feel things. Look where that has gotten us, forked us, made us separate. But tell me something, if I actually make you <i>feel</i>, how the hell am I the bad guy here? Instead of hating me, try accepting me for once. Instead of alienating me, try embracing me. I too need to be assured that things will get better, you know. I would like if sometime, someone comes to me and actually accepts and comforts me, and does not try to get rid of me or even try to fill me for a change. I'm a vacuum, nothing can fill me, you should have understood that by now. Do I not deserve even a wee bit of good, of light, after everything I - we - have been through?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Hi, I'm the murk in you. I'm what's been eating you alive inside, rendering you just a structure of flesh - all hollow inside. I'm what cripples you and aches inside you, and makes you sob on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. I'm all that and more. But all I ask is, let those grudges go. Let it go, and accept me, just once. We owe it to us, do we not?</p>
<p dir="ltr">The Void.<br><br></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2N0kluI3G0k_rOflExTP_cIhiAZo8HUImWnP-DrXUaWK-eCQ7CTNcKwjk5W7TkzFffRnIKEX0Y_KHSash1Metzx88CF8xbjIJ_aisk7WicQv8nlHZSIGypFa5uoykS0WZiWhchrZQOyY/s1600/Screenshot_20171114-005921_1_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2N0kluI3G0k_rOflExTP_cIhiAZo8HUImWnP-DrXUaWK-eCQ7CTNcKwjk5W7TkzFffRnIKEX0Y_KHSash1Metzx88CF8xbjIJ_aisk7WicQv8nlHZSIGypFa5uoykS0WZiWhchrZQOyY/s640/Screenshot_20171114-005921_1_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-59393558949860064292017-11-04T01:49:00.001-07:002017-11-04T01:49:55.000-07:00Recoil<p dir="ltr"><u>I</u> stand at the window, staring at the street and the passerbys. The sky has turned blueish orange - the sun is about to set, dawning the night. Evening breezes blow, calming my insides that keep churning throughout the day. Something just like this by Coldplay and Chainsmokers plays in the background, my sister must be playing it on her laptop, I guess. There's a restaurant right in front of the building I live in, just across the street. It's a well, six storied glass building, that stands tall. I bite my upper lip, and touch my face. It's been weeks that I've shaved. Through the glass of the restaurant, I see a couple sitting, waiting for their food to arrive. Maybe they haven't yet even ordered, must be thinking what they should fill their stomachs with. I can tell by their actions, they're a newly wed couple, embarking on a whole new journey in life. The joy of being with each other is visible on their faces. The lady can't stop smiling. For my convenience, I name them Mary and Joe. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Mary is a beautiful woman, long hair, wears maybe a dress that is orange, or red - I can't really tell from a distance. Her wedding ring is a giant diamond that shines and reflects through the glass walls. She has a smile affixed to her face that doesn't seem would vanish anytime soon. Joe must be a lucky man.</p>
<p dir="ltr">On the other hand, the man sitting opposite her is Joe, suited up, clean shaven, perfectly suiting her. He is saying something that makes Mary blush. Somehow, seeing them makes me smile, too. Their food arrives, and I can't really guess what it is that they're eating but she takes up a piece of it and feeds Joe. He smiles and eats it. Then he does the same. Mary and Joe look very happy. I don't realize when smiling for them takes me back into the memory lines of the past, the ones that I've left way down the road, the ones that I've locked up way too deep in my heart. The song changes to Shania Twain's You're Still The One, and the opening lines strike me. "When I first saw you, I saw love. And the first time you touched me, I felt love. And after all this time, you're still the one I love." I feel a tear trickle down upto my nose, and suddenly all I'm filled with is one name. A name that is the sunshine in my darkest days, a name that still aches to be said, a name I'll never get over. Her name.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Amy and I had been on and off time and again. We were set up on a blind date by our mutual friends and we had really hit it off. Things weren't bad with us, but they weren't good either. Our separation wasn't a bummer to anyone, everyone had seen it coming, except us. We were in love, and suddenly we weren't. It didn't matter, we just didn't work. No matter how hard we tried, what we did, we knew it wasn't meant to be. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Right now, I'm trying hard to not let the memories get ahold of me. I'm trying not to reminisce, because if I do, I will want to have her back. And everyone knows how that ends very well. I want her, but I don't want her. I can't want her, well, that's the thing. Now my thoughts start to race and conflict within. I hate this part. A part of me thinks we should have a life apart and ahead of each other, we're toxic. It's for the best that we stay detached. But again, the heart feels what the heart feels. It wants what you can't have, always. It's insane.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Oh Chrissie, change the damn song!" I yell at my sister. Mary and Joe look so happy still, and now I'm wanting to be like that with someone. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I can't help all these feelings that are rushing in. Amy must not even be thinking about me. I have to convince myself not to go back to her.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Do I love Amy? <i>Yes</i>.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Am I in love with Amy? <i>I'm not so sure.</i> <i>Maybe.</i></p>
<p dir="ltr">She's the good part about me. When I'm with her, I'm a better person. Without her, eh, not so much. But she awakens the beast in me. She has a hold over me I can't deny. And that isn't very saintly, either. I can't call her. I won't call her.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I look at Mary and Joe one last time - the vibrant smile on the woman's face and the satisfaction on the face of the man - I want that. I want a relationship. A relationship. With Amy? Damn, why her?<br>
I go and sit on my bed. My mind and my heart are stubbornly arguing, and neither of them is giving up.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><i>Oh, for the love of God! Forget about her already.</i></p>
<p dir="ltr">The battle in my head doesn't seem to have an end. Why does she have this impact on me? I want to move forward with my life, I have to. But somehow, I keep going back to her, well not me, but my heart does. I guess that's the thing, when you have loved someone, they never really go away.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I pick up my phone and dial.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Hello, Amy?"</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_MIotc8q6-9dnyW09i_UMaDz1A31mWKJTaucQUI49cCKhwKtVfEvamKEbnANhOww9FDIIQsQIgY-XjVEGGuJQnfUk3sDkGTNbV4xR5jO_e9XVHHD43fKW2J35bVircYKGGJ9jcOz85Uw/s1600/Screenshot_20171104-141810_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_MIotc8q6-9dnyW09i_UMaDz1A31mWKJTaucQUI49cCKhwKtVfEvamKEbnANhOww9FDIIQsQIgY-XjVEGGuJQnfUk3sDkGTNbV4xR5jO_e9XVHHD43fKW2J35bVircYKGGJ9jcOz85Uw/s640/Screenshot_20171104-141810_1.jpg"> </a> </div>Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-69004106868015761562017-10-22T11:14:00.001-07:002017-10-23T02:17:27.559-07:00Shadows<p dir="ltr">These shadows, they follow me everywhere. Day and night. Night and day. All the time. It's like a part of me that I don't want around, but can't separate from myself. It's like a contamination, I feel it spread throughout my insides through my blood, whilst I see the reflections of those in the form of the shadows around me. They're scary. It's like the weight that is tied around my legs when I am drowning, I cannot come to the surface. I seem perfectly fine to everyone but I'm drowning, drowning in myself, as I hear the shadows laugh at me. I recognise those shadows, you know, I'm it, but I cannot get rid of it anyway. It's like a belt that's been fastened around my neck, controlling me, making it difficult for me to breathe, and having people tell me it's all in my head? When I walk, I feel its weight on my shoulders, more so a burden, a luggage that I have to carry around no matter what. I don't speak, not because I can't, but the constant calculations of the holocaust that's going on in me makes it difficult for me to think. I'm not pretentious or holding myself back, I'm just anxious. You should see my nails, I bite 'em a lot, just because I can't find anything else to focus all my energy on. I'm constantly shivering and nauseous and on the verge of falling apart, most of the times. You know, I'm like that suitcase that's so overpacked that just one lid cannot hold everything together. People seem to fail to understand that. And it consumes me, and I can't do anything except let it. I have to give in because the more I try to resist, the more I feel it. Constant ticks ring like silence in my head, making no noise but killing me with its loudness. It's a recoil, really, it just gets better and then suddenly out of nowhere, I'm back at square one. And these shadows, they control it. They make it happen. They coerce me to feel all these things. They trap me in a cage and they carry me around in the palm of their hands, vulnerable and feeble.</p>
<p dir="ltr">For a long, long time, I used to think I was the only one who felt this anxious. But with time, a great realisation has dawned upon me, that's everyone feels this. Everyone has a baggage, a past, a shadow. And the many people I see around me everyday, they're too trapped in their minds, maybe, and they're too controlled by their demons. Everyone has their shadows and maybe, just maybe, it's okay to hope that we'll be fine one day.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-65967505639473423102017-07-21T11:04:00.001-07:002017-07-21T11:11:41.057-07:00Peace.<p dir="ltr">I'm walking by the footpath. My hair falls over my face, so I tie it up in a bun. I'm depressed. My life makes no sense. I mean, I sure can pretend happy all day long, but nights have this power of bringing out the grief in me. I feel suffocated. I feel like I have nobody, like I need to get out of here. I need to get out of this life -- I feel like dying.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It's late, I've lost the track of time. There's nobody on the road, and it's started to rain. As the drops of rain fall over me, I feel like all that's accumulated in me is proliferating. It's like the rain is trying to embrace me in its arms, and I break down. I fall, and as I'm about to wipe my tears and get up, something hits me. Maybe it's a car, or a truck. Something big. My head's spinning and all I can see is blood - I'm soaked in it. My entire body aches, and I'm passing out because of the pain. My vision blurres more and more with every ticking second, and suddenly, all the pain ends. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I don't know how much time has passed. I wake up in a white room - naked. All the pain, all the despair, it seems like everything's just ended. I sit up and look at myself. There are no wounds, no blood. Not even a scratch. I look around, there's nothing in the room. No furniture, no bed, no television, it's just empty. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, it's all painted in white. And even though I should be freaking out, I'm surprisingly calm. I know where I am. I know this place.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I stand up and take a deep breath. I don't even feel sad anymore. It's like I'm all healed, mentally and physically. I touch the walls, I don't know why. Everything - it just feels right. There's no door to this room. I mean, there is, but someone coming here for the first time will never find it. It looks like there's just walls. There's no guessing. But I know where it is, I just know. This is my place. I walk towards the wall that's in front of me, and push the wall-like door. There's no handle to the door, not even a latch or something. It's just plain. <i>Everything</i> is plain here. I'm not even aware of my nakedness. That's just how I'm supposed to be at this place. That's weird, but somehow right.</p>
<p dir="ltr">As the door opens, a bright yellow light shines from the other end, piercing my eyes so hard as if they'd bleed. I wonder if this is what I'm thinking it is. I'm taking deep breaths as the light disappears. I look outside, and I'm now sure of where I am. This is my heaven.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I smile. As I take a few steps ahead, I can feel the sunlight on my bare skin, making me feel ecstatic. As far as I can see, there's just grass. It tickles my feet as I step on it. There are a few trees, but mostly there are flowers - all pink, yellow, red, orange. I am surrounded by just the nature. Far away, I see a cottage. The sky above the cottage is pink in colour, only the part above it. The rest of the sky is blue, just normal. Well, this isn't normal, though. I know that. But when have I ever adored normalcy? I have always wanted a fairytale, a bliss. I start walking towards the cottage, when my sight falls over a pond of water. I change my path towards the pond and as I reach there, I take a little water in my hand. Turns out the water's changed its colour from blue to pink, and it is sparkling, like someone has mixed glitter with it. I like it. I throw a handful of water in the sky, and all the little drops turn into birds that start chirping. I know that was going to happen, I've imagined it so many times. All of this, this place I'm in, it's all like I've imagined since my childhood. It's a part of my life I'd locked up inside, but I'm here now, and I realize this is where I have always wanted to be - a place that makes no sense, a place that's magic.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I again start walking towards the cottage, but a few steps later, I realize I cannot see the cottage anymore. I have landed in a forest, not a very dense one, but it's still a forest. The leaves of the trees are purple in colour, and as I take a leaf in my hand, it becomes an apple. I take a bite out of it, and keep walking. A little ahead, I meet a bear, and it's not a scary bear. I know him. </p>
<p dir="ltr">"You're finally here!" He exclaims.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"I am." I say, smiling and raising my eyebrows.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"I had thought you'd never be able to escape your reality. You did it." He says proudly.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"This... This is my reality." I say, "Everything else was fiction."</p>
<p dir="ltr">We smile and keep walking wherever the path leads us.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"All my life, I have been a shy person. I read and read, never liked people. I've lost innumerable people I've loved, and yet didn't find a single soul who loved me for me. I've always found peace in stories. This is where I used to want to come, when I wanted to escape the world." I admit.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"I know." He smiles.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He leads me to a river. I see that there's a boat on the bank.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"You coming?" I ask as I look behind me, but he's gone. A part of me wishes he'd have accompanied me, but I let go. This is a new ability I discover about myself. I can let go. I wonder why I couldn't let go of the things that hurt me in my life. I get into the boat and set out in the river, when a frog jumps in.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Hey there!" He greets me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Hi. Can you tell me where this river leads to?" I ask him, my curiosity rising every moment.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Haven't you figured out yet?" He counter questions me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">"What?" I look at him confused.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"This leads to wherever you want it to. This is your land, your imagination. You can do anything you want in here. You have the power. You have the magic. All you have to do is think where you want to be and snap your fingers." He tells me. I'm still confused.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"How do you know?" I ask him nervously.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Because I'm you, silly. This place, its contents, it's all you." He says.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"But I met with an accident and woke up here. It makes no sense. Am I dreaming?" </p>
<p dir="ltr">"Oh my, you're really unaware. I don't know how to tell you-- okay, euphemistically speaking, you've passed away. You couldn't survive the accident. A part of you knows it." He says, and disappears. </p>
<p dir="ltr">He's right. I know I'm dead, this is definitely not a dream. It's just too perfect. I try the finger snapping thing he told me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">'The door,' I close my eyes and think, and snap my fingers. I'm magically transported back to the door of the white room, and I'm standing on its threshold. </p>
<p dir="ltr">All my life, I've been too afraid to live. I've suffered and suffered, and given too much, even to the wrong people, the ones who didn't deserve it. I never had the guts to be at liberty, I've always been scared of the future, never at peace. But maybe that's over now. Maybe finally, in death, I've found a place where I belong.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I look inside the room, all plain and white and empty, and I look out of the room, all cheerful and colourful and bright, and I now understand that's just who I am. Sometimes I'm the white room, awfully silent and empty and hollow, and sometimes I'm this vibrant person who's full of life and enthusiasm and love. I know this place, it represents me. Maybe this is my peace. When I was alive, I couldn't fly, had no wings - I was in my cocoon. But now, I'm at liberty. I've just left my cocoon and I'm ready to fly, even without <u>wings</u>. This is my heaven.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-27135056930881483232017-02-19T00:10:00.001-08:002017-02-19T00:10:40.855-08:00Traveller - Part Two<p dir="ltr">I look at him, as he's staring into the infinity, at the sight of the mountains and the sky meeting. He narrows his eyes and lets out a sigh. </p>
<p dir="ltr">"Mine isn't the story that'd make you think, or make you cry. I have no agonies. I've let everyone and everything go. I'm a happy man."</p>
<p dir="ltr">He actually does look happy. Peaceful. The man standing in front of me, all funky, is just something else. He has a lot of friends, I know. But of them, who knows him? Maybe everyone, maybe none.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Okay, so tell me, what is the first thing that comes into your mind about your childhood?" I ask.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He closes his eyes, and a his lips curve into a million dollar smile. I wait for him to speak. I know he will.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"My old house. It was in the old part of the city. It is like one of those settlements of ancient times, where people would build huge bungalows, called the Waada's. It was a beautiful place, probably one of my favorites." His eyes light up like Christmas trees. <br>
This person, who shows all flirty and funky to the world, is just a child inside. I smile.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Yeah, I know." I say.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"It was a huge place, you know? There were all pillars, and so many rooms. And a hallway just right in front of the main door. Which reminds me of the main door, it was pretty big, too." I can see the trouble he has, explaining the details to me. I am just looking at him and smiling. This child needs to be heard.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Whenever we had holidays, my cousins and I would have a lot of fun. We've played so much, we've troubled people so much, oh my God." He says.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Okay." I say, unable to hide my smile yet. He's cute.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We say nothing for a while. I stand beside him, looking at the sun that is still nascent. There are fishermen in a boat, sailing far away. He clicks some pictures of them, while I just observe him. All the time.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"I was in fifth grade when I had my first crush." He says, rather declares. I chuckle.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Fifth grade? Seriously?" I'm trying hard not to laugh.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Yes, she was in my tuition classes. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. But I can't remember why she never liked me."</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Maybe she was busy learning the table of 13." I say, still giggling.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Ha-ha." He fake laughs.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"What more?" I ask.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"I told you there's nothing hidden deep inside. I'm a shallow person. I'm just who I am. Straightforward, clear. You won't find anything in me that people write about. I'm just me." He says.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"I know. Everyone is worth writing about. Now tell me, what happens after your fifth grade crush?" I enquire, being a little serious this time.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"I don't quite remember. Fast forwarding to class 10th, I had this girl in my class, Tara. I don't know what it was that I felt for her was something that's just pure. In this world of selfishness and lust, she was like a dew. I liked her so much that I never dared to tell her how I felt. School ended, and we fell out of touch. But at the back of my mind, she's always there. A few years earlier, I came across her in college. She was still the same beautiful." He is smiling throughout his mini speech. </p>
<p dir="ltr">"O-kay." I can see he is transported back in time when he had this crush. He's looking past me, with a smile affixed to his lips. He's just nostalgic, and I'm seeing a different side of him today. This isn't the Bunny I know.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"I tried doing Engineering, but I didn't like it. So I dropped it. Did 10+2, then BBA." </p>
<p dir="ltr">"Your dropped engineering?" I ask, a little surprised.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Yes, I didn't like it. What is the point in doing something where your heart isn't?" He counter questions me, leaving me speechless. </p>
<p dir="ltr">"Amidst all this, I've been a model, too. I was pretty good at it." He says mischievously.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"You've done a lot, haven't you?" </p>
<p dir="ltr">"If you say so." Irrelevant response.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We get back into the car, and bid adieu to the lakeshore. I don't speak much. It's his day of speaking. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I check the time, it's 10 am.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"You know, I believe in astrology. Once, I'd been to an astrologer, and he saw the alignment of planets, and told me that I'd become a legend one day." He says, driving.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Oh, that's nice." I mumble.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Not just that one astrologer, but quite a few have told this to me. It just makes my belief stronger. Also, I know a little astrology myself." He tells me.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Wow, I am quite fascinated by this, but never really looked deep." I say, unsure of what to speak. I hope it's coherent.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Yeah." He says absent-mindedly.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Where are we going?" I ask.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"To the church." He says.<br><br><br><br><br><br><br></p>
<p dir="ltr"><i>Stay in touch, you guys. Traveller series is about someone who has recently had a great impact on my life. Not extraordinary, but everyone is worth writing about. And that's exactly what I am doing.</i><br>
<i>The last part coming soon. :)</i></p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-246053459883640982017-01-19T22:22:00.001-08:002017-01-19T22:24:13.424-08:00Traveller - Part One<p dir="ltr">It is 7 o'clock in the morning, winter. I feel cold, and have sneezed a few times. He's late. Mindlessly, I call him once. He doesn't answer. I just keep sitting there, I have no other option anyway.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My fists are cold, so cold that I don't feel them - numb. Same with my feet. I really need him to come as soon as possible.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Dude, you're coming or no?" I text him. Last seen today 1.06 am. I am afraid he's still sleeping.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It's 7.20 now, I am thinking of going back home and sleeping again. As I make up my mind to finally get back home, the screen of my phone flashes.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Bunny calling." Finally.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He says he will be there in five minutes and hangs up. And he really comes in the said time.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I climb into his car and the first thing I see is that he's shivering. He's dressed in a white t-shirt, a blue jeans, paired with a black leather jacket. He's wearing a cap - black, too - with Bob Marley written on it, twisted on one side. <br>
"You have been waiting in this cold?" He asks, with an expression on his face that I cannot comprehend. </p>
<p dir="ltr">"Yes." I say, not knowing what to say any further.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"It's so crisp. Interested in having tea?" He asks, still shivering.</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Uh- I don't drink tea. You have it though. You really seem to need it right now." I say after a little thought of I don't know what.<br>
He drives to a nearby tea stall, and buys himself a steaming cup of tea. He gulps it down within the blink of an eye, and asks me where I want to go. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I am clueless, as I tell him that I have no idea, and that will be happy to accompany him anywhere he goes. I just want to talk to him.</p>
<p dir="ltr">He adjusts his cap and thinks for a moment. For the first time, I look at him attentively. His cap reveals a strand of his hair. He has mild traces of beard that covers his jawline, and his eyes are smaller than I thought they were. He rubs his hands over each other and asks me to hop into the car. I do.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I notice a camera on the backseat of his car. He's busy in driving and none of us says anything for a little while. The music is playing loud, and I realize none of us would be able to hear if the other one says anything. I stay quiet. </p>
<p dir="ltr">When the song ends, I ask him, "So are you ready?"</p>
<p dir="ltr">"Yeah!" He says, with enthusiasm filled in his voice.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We again fall silent.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I keep stealing glances at him, he is so immersed in mumbling the lyrics of the song he claims to love, while he says he's gonna track down the lyricist and tell him how much he loves the song and ask what inspires him to write and that how can someone write this good. I just keep listening to him.</p>
<p dir="ltr">All this time, I am firm on one belief. He is not what he shows. He hides more than anyone knows. I have to know him. I have to know him. A few times I have conversed with him, he has seemed pretty sapient. I want to know what lies behind that wisdom.</p>
<p dir="ltr">We reach a lakeshore. Getting out of the car, we face the lake and let the cold breezes tickle us. I'm nonchalant, while he's restless as always. He steps back and rests himself on the front of his car, and looks at me. I stand facing him, not knowing what to say, where to start from. There's so much to talk.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-80997671717568570182016-12-27T05:14:00.001-08:002016-12-29T10:50:11.561-08:00Bruised.<p dir="ltr">Nostalgia runs through my veins, as I open my old diary, 10 years old diary. My handwriting is beyond the capabilities of a person to understand, exaggeration intended. The year 2006 is written in bold letters on the first page, and my mind traces back to the time my Dad gave that diary to me for the first time.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It was an usual evening, I had just come home from my coaching classes. It had been a tiresome day, and I'd collapsed on the sofa, whilst I threw my bag on a chair nearby. The sofa had made a creaking sound, and everyone had laughed hysterically. Some time later, Dad had come to me to give me this diary he'd brought for me from his office. He knew I was fond of writing. I had been more than happy.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Today, as I run my fingers on that paper, I have a heavy heart. Nostalgia has really hit me hard. I turn the pages of the diary without reading it, smelling the old warmth that once had comforted me. It is like I found a long lost best friend. I come back to page one, my name scribbled on it with different inks. Remember the pen we used to have with four refills of four different colours? Yes, black, blue, green and red. And then at the end of the page I find a futile attempt of trying to use all the four refills at once. I smile. </p>
<p dir="ltr">2nd January, 2006.<br>
So daddy brought me this cool diary yesterday, but I'd been so tired that I slept without writing. But I will write today. First of all, here are my new year resolutions -<br>
1. Lose weight.<br>
2. Try to study more.<br>
3. Write everyday.<br>
Though I am not sure about the first one. But I have to. There's someone to impress. Wink.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I had been in class XI then, and as I read it today, I have a wide grin on my face. I feel good, reviving those moments through this diary. I breathe slowly, everything is calm right now. I laugh at my resolutions, lose weight. Though I know I didn't. And study more? Well, I am sure there is gonna be a note for that too. I turn the page, and it's just a drawing, mountains, sun setting over it, V-shaped birds flying and a river, and a house nearby. Cliché. I cannot stop smiling.</p>
<p dir="ltr">17th January, 2006.<br>
Just felt like drawing. And hey, I draw pretty well. <br>
Well, I haven't yet started exercising, nor am I writing regularly. Doesn't matter, though. I'll try again next year.</p>
<p dir="ltr">4th February, 2006.<br>
I am bruised. My left knee is injured. We were in school, on the playground, and there were XII class boys playing football. I was nowhere near them, but one of the guys suddenly came and fell on me. He was so immersed in running behind the ball that he didn't see such a huge me. Dumb. I am angry.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I remember how my knee had hurt for an entire week. I had cried so much. But now, I have my entire self bruised, but I don't cry. Maybe I have gotten used to it. I don't know what happened, but now I have forgotten what it is like to let things out just by crying. I carry a broken heart with me, but I just work fine. What has happened, why have I become so monotonous?</p>
<p dir="ltr">28th April, 2006.<br>
I didn't write for the entire March month because I had my exams. And today was my result and I just scored 72%. Mom and Dad have not said anything to me but I know they are mad at me. I really will study hard the next year. I'll make you proud, Mumma Papa. I am sorry. I love you.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I suddenly realize that I haven't told my parents I loved them since long now. Why? I try to think hard for a reason but nothing comes up. I have gotten so busy with my life that I have forgotten that I have them, too. I wanted to make them proud, 10 years ago. But have I? I'm afraid not. This thought pricks me hard and my eyes well up, for the first time in ages. A silent drop of tear falls off, followed by another. But my smile, that still doesn't go.</p>
<p dir="ltr">6th May, 2006.<br>
Our school has organised a trip! Yay! All my friends are gonna go, and I want to go too. I'll talk to Mumma Papa today. They won't refuse, I know. It will be so much fun! Trekking all the way through the mountains with friends, I'll take our camera with me. I'll click lots of photos. Yay. I am so excited! Life is so good.</p>
<p dir="ltr">It's been 10 years, and I now realize that the child inside me, who used to be all excited about things is now no more. I used to be so full of life. Where did things go wrong? I have grown up, yes, but does it mean that nothing is gonna excite and interest me, ever? No. This can't be it. I am missing something. <br>
And life is good? I haven't thought this thought since years now. Why aren't things okay? I have no answer.</p>
<p dir="ltr">19th August, 2006.<br>
I'm sad today. Veera and I fought, that too over a guy! This is so not cool. Friends are meant to be forever. She knows I like Jay, and still she meets him secretly, without my knowledge? But she says he likes her too. So maybe I should just stay away? She apologized to me millions of times today, and I said it's okay. It really is. Just I am not.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I smirk. This was the first ever heartbreak I'd had. Veera was my best friend, and Jay, her now-husband. I had been sad for three months straight. I didn't talk to people, didn't hang out with them on the playground like I used to, stayed away from them. But I'd healed. I'd let go. I'd forgiven her. Why can't I do that now? Have I lost the ability to forgive and let things go? Maybe yes. The world is a cruel place. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I have written no more. I wish I had, except for the 'Byebye 2006' written on the page of 31st December. Re-living those feelings and no matter what, not being able to feel the same things today tears me apart from inside. Not being able to be the person I was some years ago makes me feel helpless. Things came into way, good or bad, and it is because of them that I am how I am today. By no means I wish to change those events, I just wish to change myself, to get back to who I was. I feel distant from my own self. And I can't help it. I'd been wounded. I'd even healed. But the scars remain. And they ache. Maybe I am bruised, for ever.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-37829331134597267222016-12-07T02:17:00.001-08:002016-12-07T21:42:29.596-08:00Your Stories - Do you?<p dir="ltr">Do you think and rethink about the things you said and the things you did, even though the moment's gone now? Do you love too much, try too hard to have what's never meant to be yours? Do you love to watch the moon and stars lying on the grass, that pricks you, but you don't care? Do you love trying to count the stars, knowing you can never get enough of it? Do you snooze alarm at least once before you wake up, just to complete that dream where she <u>was</u> yours? Do you think that any time is coffee time, even though you just had it fifteen minutes ago? Do you like walking on the lonely, empty streets late at night, just to feel the breezes against your skin, because it is soothing? Do you love the late night talks with that one particular person, oblivious of what it means to them? Do you love when your loved ones hug you without any reason, and you feel immensely good? Do you love reading books, and have that one fictional character that means the world to you? Do you treasure your relations the most, even when you know that no one is permanent in a temporary world? Hell yeah, do you love food, and cannot control your inner child when you see chocolates? Do you love walking in the rain, just because it satisfies you in a weird and incomprehensibly bizzare way? Do you not like goodbyes, because they're too painful? Do you not prefer lying, because you know what it feels to be lied to? Do you regret the mistakes that you have and haven't committed because no matter what it was, it has hurt you inevitably? Do you find it tough express yourself, so you use a paper and pen to cast your agony into written word? Do you love listening to music 24*7, just because they voice the feelings you cannot convey? Do you love listening to a particular song over and over again and sing aloud at the top notch of your voice as the lyrics take you over? Do you love to laugh until your stomach hurts, because that is the moment when you zone out of all the things that you worry about? Do you want to fight for what you want, but just can't, because you are a shy, litte creature wrapped up in layers that are soon gonna tangle around your neck?  Do you love watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S, because maybe that is the only bright thing in your dark life? Do you love reading stuff like this, and if whilst reading this, you got a smile on your face, well, then I have one thing to say - People like us need to stick together. Because, I do, too.<br><br></p>
<p dir="ltr">Note -<br>
Your Stories is a special feature chain of posts, written by a friend, who doesn't want his name to be disclosed, and edited by myself. There's much more interesting stuff coming up. Stay tuned.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-62978839182869668762016-11-19T10:25:00.001-08:002016-11-19T10:38:31.920-08:00Solace<p dir="ltr">I escape the shooting questions, offered drinks, wild dances of the people I don't even know, and take the first step of the staircase. My head is buzzing with noises I can't handle, my feet are shaking due to the catastrophe I know I am heading to, I'm shivering because I don't know if I'm even gonna make it or no. Second step. I'm sweating already. My palms are wet and I rub them against the suit I'm wearing, which isn't mine, of course. Third step. I hear someone call out my name but I refuse to turn back. They'll occupy the little space that is left in me, I know, and I can't let them do that. I have very little of me left for myself, I can't let myself go now. Fourth step. I tremble. My body is aching due to fear and pain, I shouldn't have come here at the first place. I can't find any good reason for why I did come. Fifth step. My phone rings. It's the same person who was calling me a few steps back, remember? Yes. I look at the screen flashing bright enough to cut deep my eyes and let blood drip from it. But I keep looking anyway. The call disconnects and I slide the phone back into my pocket. Sixth step. I can feel myself fainting now. I have to remember henceforth, I am my priority. Never do the things you are uncomfortable doing, may it be for anyone that you immensely love or whatever. Just. Don't. Seventh step. I feel nauseated. Maybe I drank too much. I need to throw out. I can't breathe. It's difficult to go ahead with a heavy head that can burst out any moment and legs that are too stubborn to follow the instructions sent by my brain to move. I take a halt. I grasp air into my lungs and I run. Taking alternate steps I don't know how many times, I reach the terrace. And as the cold breeze clashes against my sweaty skin, I feel strangely good. Like everything I've been feeling until a few moments ago just fades away into the air. I can see sparkles in front of my eyes, but I know it's just in my head. I close my eyes and breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. And again. Deep. Deeper. As I open my eyes back into reality, I feel refreshed. I don't need to throw up anymore. I am not shivering, I'm not afraid of anything. It's like the night sky has liberated me into my own strength. I am strong. I feel strong. There's nobody around. I still hear vague noises of the loud music people are enjoying so much down there. But I'm past the phase that was running towards me as if it'd consume me. I take off my shoes and overcoat. I lie down on the floor, and it feels cold against my back that is just protected by a thin layer of the shirt I'm wearing. Even that feels calm and soothing. I look at the sky, the moon shines bright over my head, and there are lots of stars, some of them shining brightly while some of them are dim, but not so much that they go unnoticed. Looking at the stars, I feel all my worries washing away one by one. As I stare into the infinity of the universe, I somehow know that I am not alone. There is some spirit in the universe that guards me from everything, it's my shield. I sigh. The moon looks beautiful, and I realize how small my world actually is. I get this energy, indeed a positive one, and it engulfs me and breaks open a world of ethereality. Serenity. Calmness. Beauty. Solitude.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-89917729104854605252016-11-02T05:50:00.001-07:002016-11-02T05:50:06.302-07:00Heartbreak.<p dir="ltr">I don't miss you. You read it right. I don't miss you, at all. I don't even think of you these days, not intentionally. I can fake a laugh till my eyes get watery, and smile and smile, no matter what. Just that once in a day, maybe twice or thrice, all of it suddenly comes to a halt. I can't wait to be alone, because that's when I won't have to pretend that I'm fine. Suddenly time stops when I pass the spot where we used to hang out, and all the memories rush back at once. Sometimes, when a breeze passes through my hair, it reminds me of your tender touch, giving me goosebumps for a while. Just that when I laugh really hard, I am reminded of the moments spent with you. When it is the end of the day and I'm about to go to sleep, and I have all these things that I feel in my heart left unsaid, I remember you saying that you were here for me to listen to my rants. When I see others happily with their loved ones, I just wish you were with me, or me with you, or we could be together at some place. When someone mentions your name, I have this known feeling that I have stopped acknowledging, but it's there. My friends, who aren't really my friends, opine that I would be stupid if I still thought of you. When I experience something really overwhelming and my heartbeats increase their pace, I am vaguely reminded of the times I have been in love with you. Love, it's a word that has lost its meaning to me. But if someone talks about being in love and the feeling of it, you're the first thing that comes into my mind. When I look at myself in the mirror, and my sight falls over my face, the eyes you said you could drown into, the smile you said you'd die for, the beauty you said you'd treasure in your eyes forever, it all seems to be insignificant. I look at the places you'd touched me, and it feels like I want to rip off my skin from there, so that I can at least get rid of your presence in me. When I see my hand, deprived of yours in it, I remember how it was when you held my hand, saying it was for ever. But I know, it's all a shout in the void. I just feel it all intensely. But I'm firm on what I had said earlier, I don't miss you.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546220461793184766.post-63412875558977352372016-10-01T12:52:00.001-07:002016-10-01T12:52:21.724-07:00Death.<p dir="ltr">I sit alone in the dark room, illuminated by my thoughts. I can see the thoughts running on in my mind like a movie scene in front of me. As I try to blink, I realize that my eyes are already closed. Maybe I'm dreaming. As I open them into reality, I freeze. I see him right in front of my eyes, holding a sharp, edged knife, coming towards me. I feel sweat drops dripping past my right eyebrow, but as it falls on the white marble floor, I realize it's blood. The red stains on my clothes are now clearly visible to me. He'd hit my head with something, and I'd fainted. And now he's coming again, to chop me off. But why? I don't remember. I'm horrified. I can't remember who he is, what my mistake is. Oh hell, I can't even remember who I am. All I know is a man whom I've majorly, majorly wronged is now coming to kill me. My mind instantly decides that I'd committed a huge mistake, and it is his revenge thing. I'm terrified at death, he's taking steps towards me, whilst I'm thinking of what I might've done to deserve this. Right now, more than knowing who I am, I need to know what I'd done. I still can't remember. He comes closer, puts his left hand on my shoulder, and paces the knife hard into my stomach. There's a sharp, churning pain that rushes through me, as I open my mouth. He takes the knife out to repeat the process again. I can't think of anything right now. I'm just engulfed by fear and pain. It's too much to bear for a single time. Maybe he could leave me like this right now and kill me later. But he slides back through my stomach again. And again. It's burning now, the pain is edged, and there's nothing I can do now to escape this. I can't run, I'm too damaged to even move. It's not only my stomach and head that's bleeding right now, but it's also my heart, for I don't know why he's doing this to me. Tears have abandoned me, I'm past the crying stage now. He hits me again, but this time, there's no pain, all of a sudden. Some scenes try to find their way in front of my eyes, but fail. There's nothing but blankness. Just a dark void stretches itself infinitely before me. No pain, no agony, no grudges. I feel free. Eternal.<br>
Maybe I am dead.</p>
Apurva Joshihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10192708392887712811noreply@blogger.com4