The Dark Half

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

In me, reside more than me...

From a very early age, an age when kids begin to learn shapes and colours, to recognize alphabets and numbers, she had sensed something else. She had struggled with light, finding a strange comfort in the shadows. And soon she befriended it. 

Her parents were not immune to it all for long. They say nobody knows a child better than its own mother and her mother had an inkling that something was grossly wrong when she always found little Lisa out of her crib laughing all alone in the middle of the night. As is the custom, it was dismissed. But a parent does get suspicious when their 5 month old baby is found almost every fortnight wide awake and in a completely different room.

It were the little things. Strangely, she never had any friends. In a bid to get her to act normal like the other kids in the neighbourhood, her father got her a pet. A bird. A dog. Finally a cat. They were never around for more than a week. Somehow they always disappeared or as she reasoned disinterestedly - "it flew out of its cage", "it ran away following the ice cream truck", "it's a cat Ma, they run away that's what they do". 

Once while searching for something, her father happened upon a tin box underneath her bed. He was curious since he couldn't remember giving her one and couldn't recall her mother or anybody else for that matter giving something like it to her. 

Her mother remembered watching in surprise as she saw her husband dash out of Lisa's room with horror masking his face. 

He never told her what he saw in the box only that they should give her some space - that maybe it was one of those teenage angsty phases. 

She had a monstrous appetite for food. Always seemed as if she were eating for two. Her habits were getting erratic every day. She was spiraling out of control. 

Her father suggested that they should have her visit a shrink. But her mother hoped for a positive change in her daughter soon. She hoped for a miracle that would never happen. 

Switching off all the lights of their house before retiring for the day, she heard Lisa talking. She crept soundlessly to her room to see her only daughter standing near the window mumbling something while someone else slept in her bed. A gasp was all she could manage as she realized that the person fast asleep also had long dark locks as her own daughter. She was Lisa. 

There were two of her. 

She went hysterical trying to fathom what she had seen. She finally relented and made her visit the local shrink the very next day. 

In a not so well lit office, Lisa met her doctor. The interiors were painted even more gloomy to provide one with a false sense of privacy. Somewhere one could be comfortable sharing their secrets. Since she was the last appointment the doctor had that afternoon - he allowed the receptionist to leave for the day. She paced across the room as the doctor entered leaving the door ajar on his way in. 

"You can sit down Lisa, maybe relax in that chaise lounge. I want you to be at complete ease," the doctor assured her. 

"So are you going to ask me silly questions now? Hoping to gain an insight into mind, the way I think?" she asked still pacing the room.

"No. I'm not. We're going to talk when you're ready to talk," he said.

"Ha! That's really not the way it works!" she smirked. 

"Believe me. That is the only way," he tried to persuade her. 

Her eyes alighted upon a book that adorned one of the shelves. 

"The Jolly Corner. Did you like it?" she asked.

"I haven't read it actually. What's it about?" he lied. 

"It deals with the concept of alter egos," she said. 

The doctor stayed silent. 

"Do you believe in them, Doctor?" she probed. 

"I don't know. It isn't something I think of too much every day. I don't think anybody does," he explained. 

"I do," she interjected. 

"Is it? Why?" he asked.

She walked towards the ornate mirror that stood at the far end of the wall. 

"I was very astute as a child. I understood things that are not that easy to grasp. Embraced certain things that may scare the daylights out of a grown up. You see, they're there. With us. All the time," her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Who?" the doctor got curious.

"Tell me, who do you see when you look into the mirror? Actually, come here. Walk right over to where I'm standing. It's easier if you see it with your own eyes," she explained. 

The doctor took a deep breath as he realized that she was another one of those incorrigible nutcases he meets on a daily basis. 

"Most people fail to see. They don't want to. I did. When I was 3, I looked in the mirror. Looked deep into its eyes. That's when I saw her. Looking right at me. Into my soul," she added. 

"My reflection smiled, I didn’t," she finished as the doctor saw her reflection in the mirror. Only it wasn't her. Because she was smiling. 

Lisa wasn't. 

The door to his office suddenly slammed shut.

Eyes That Dream...

Those eyes, I swear!

Those treacherous eyes!

That lead to this train of events, 

A fruitless search for a measure to save or prevent, 

The one guilty of nothing,

Yet caught under the jurisdiction of everything.

Those eyes! Traitors!

Responsible for this horrible crime! 

Crept in silently, unnoticed, 

With tact and stealth, they committed, 

The unpardonable offence of dreaming, 

Giving wings of capability to incapable envisioning.

Those eyes! 

Are the ones who betrayed!

Hiding there, waiting, 

Preying on vulnerability, conspiring, 

And once the blinds closed,

The impending deluge of hope reckoned.

Those eyes! 

Those disloyal eyes!

Go on deceiving and conniving, 

This painful cycle of yearning and desiring, 

The heart doesn't comprehend wants and means, 

Against the crumbling walls of uncertainty it leans.

 Those eyes! 

Those ruinous eyes! 

The mirage seems closer to home, 

Costing more than one can fathom,

To dream is a gamble too exorbitant,

Shards of the piercing truth, their remnant...

Will the Real ‘Real Woman’ Please Stand Up?

Image Courtesy: Google

Off late, there's been a lot of buzz on my timeline about 'real women'. A certain advertisement campaign by a very famous lingerie brand that some allege paints a wrong and unrealistic image of women. That it makes women all over the world feel bad about the way they look when they look at these models who are 'all of the same slim body type.' While it is not right to set a standard of beauty (which lies in the eye of the beholders that's what they told me) but it is also highly foolish to spend your precious time and energy rallying a petition asking for the campaign to be removed. It is times like these when I start itching for that time when we lived without social media (remember the Stone Age?) Because really, while it has given us an outlet to vent, it has also given rise to the irritatingly persistent 'Opinion Fart.' It's everywhere – “I didn't like my coffee today so I will blog about it because that is my opinion” or “A certain movie/song/poster rubbed me the wrong way - so I will design an online appeal for it to be pulled down urging all to do the same because I have an opinion.” It is this gateway of creating sensationalism without sense that we're all a victim of. Including me.

Somehow I was reminded of the sneaky little stunt pulled off by another Real Beauty campaign last year to oppose Photoshopping of celebrities in magazines and setting unrealistic standards of beauty and again aimed at spreading the word about 'real women.'

Who are these real women?

Were the girls standing in the row in the Ad campaign NOT actual women? Living, breathing women? I'm not a crusader for the rights of models but they're people too. Aren't they? And who decides the definition of real women?

I never really understood the whole hullabaloo about "REAL WOMEN" and "RETOUCHED WOMEN." It still won't stop people from picking up a copy of their favorite magazine just as it hits the newsstands or it won't stop them from gaping at the women they see on TV. Larger than life portrayal and unrealistic images of women isn't something that started a month ago. It is the oldest trick in the book to package a product in a manner that stands appealing enough to make the target audience want to buy it. They’re selling lingerie, for God’s sake! And as people that lead the glamorous lifestyle, they have a certain image to live up to, a certain way to lead their life if they want to stay in the business, which is EXACTLY what these models do too, so why can't you just let them be? Real women are smart enough to know what's real and what is fake and EVERYONE, I repeat EVERYONE has issues with the way they look, whether that person is a commoner making her way to the grocery store or a supermodel that toils for hours in front of a camera to give that perfect pose! A campaign isn't gonna cut it! You're just reiterating a fact that has been known all along in the worst possible way.

Yes, agreed there are women of all shapes and sizes. A slim body type being one of them. So why does it ring alarm bells in our heads when we see a 'skinny' girl on the cover of a magazine or on TV? Why does it MOVE people so much that they concoct petitions for it? And a skinny person does not always imply an eating disorder and is not a way to spread ideas of a 'negative body image' or lace young minds with thoughts of skipping food or puking it out. And to all those harping about the fact that these are not real women and that actual women are ‘imperfect regular old dames’ being bullied and picked on by the big bad world for the way they appear - well let me tell you it ain't that peachy on the other side. Thin girls are also victims of some of the worst kind of criticisms that make them feel awful about themselves. Because they feel. Since they are 'real women.' Like you and me.

And does anyone ever realize that we're equating the term Real Women (an overly abused term I now feel) with how a woman looks alone. Isn't it appalling that we're basing the idea of real woman by quantifying it with appearance and the world's most fickle concept - beauty? So there's nothing more a woman has to offer than a pretty face and a perfect body?

Thin or fat, the girl next door or the supermodel - there are days when we feel our best when we look into the mirror and days when we feel like we should crawl inside a box and never come out. So ladies, why so serious? Because at the end of the day, you cannot change their way of thinking. But you can change the way you view yourself and you can choose to ignore the elements that disrupt your piece of mind (which is what some people ought to do after reading what I wanted to say). Why should we let 'Opinion Farts' and how somebody thinks what real beauty and real women are define us and spoil our state of Zen?

Is it smelly in here or what? 

All of you...

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

"The winter is coming and I am off to where I come from but not before I say this to you. I came here looking forward to doing my work and getting the hell out of dodge but I can't say that that's all I did. Because I didn't. I couldn't. The brief time that I have known you has had a profound impact on my otherwise banal existence. Life has never been that kind to me to give me things unasked. It was always a struggle. It was because of this reason - precisely this reason that when I had the pleasure of knowing you( whatever little yet magnitudinal way I have surmised you) I thought that it was something akin to a Satan in a Sunday hat. That there was something to it. And if I gave myself in, if I budged, I would fall and hurt myself. Seriously. Because there's no way I could have ever come across someone like you and not think that it was a mirage. I have been going out of my mind trying to come up with some sane logic that would come to my rescue but I failed. 

And today I say what I should've long ago: 

I love you. 

Many people would tell you that you are pretty or that you put the Heavens to shame with your beauty or quote the choicest of poets as they profess their feelings to you. But you are so much more than that. It is true that every minute I was with you, I thought of myself as the luckiest man to have ever walked this Earth - your presence made me so happy. It is also true that every time I was away from you - as I walk away from you now - each concerned beat of my earnest heart misses you. 

I want to be there for you when there's a frown on your face. Whenever you're down and low, whenever you feel like crawling inside a box and never coming out. The colours that tint your myriad expressions, the hand that does away with that strand of stray hair from your face, the shoulder you can be rest assured against in times of dismay, the gaze that would put all those thoughts of worry in your mind to rest, that whiff of positivity that would turn all your doubts to puffs of smoke, the breeze that moves with you day in day out. I want to be your silhouette. That ray of silly hope when you have your head in your hands and you're exasperated. That hint of a smile metamorphosing into laughter. Every impatient bat of lash. Every breath. Every touch. That part of you that I see. That hidden part of your conscious that I am unaware of. Your darkness and your despair. Your light and your air. You. All of you. Because I love you..." 

She stood there reading his flawless script again and again. Several minutes passed. Some people just hit you. All your five senses. This was one of those moments. 

She folded the letter placing it in her pocket and ran with all her might all the way to where he would be. 

"Looks like she has a train to catch," an onlooker said out loud as she raced the streets. 

Of Creepy Dolls and Deadly Ghouls...

Image Courtesy: Google

A month prior to the release of the movie 'Annabelle' I had a chance to get my hands on the book 'The Demonologist: The Extraordinary Career of Ed and Lorraine Warren' with a view to better equip myself  before I watched the movie and also to satisfy the horror movie buff in me.
Well, the book scares me more than the actual movie.

But that doesn't mean that it isn't a good horror movie. It definitely does not mean that Indian horror movie makers(or horrex as some pathetic movies might purport) can pat themselves on the back when it comes to churning out horrendously forgetful spine chilling tales. No. You still suck at it.

The movie is directed by John Leonetti not James Wan(The Conjuring, Insidious series). Joseph Bishara provides the score and he is once again good at it. It opens with the first scene fron The Conjuring where we see two nurses and a boy discussing their experiences with Annabelle - the doll who fools them into thinking that it is a little girl's ghost. The first half doesn't really have much to scare you. That's the second half. The first half sets base for the story to form in the latter part. Characters are introduced. We get to know a little bit about Annabelle Higgins. The real one. A living, breathing human being who joins a satanic cult. John and a pregnant Mia(the main leads) get somehow enmeshed during one of Annabelle's midnight parent-killing rituals. The couple survive but an inhuman spirit has already been conjured up by Annabelle before she dies of which no one is aware of until unexplained things start occurring in the house. Doors opening and closing on their own accord, the doll(yes, she isn't called Annabelle in the movie because she isn't) starts changing positions and places and a deadly fire that almost kills Mia. Again she escapes unscathed and delivers her baby, Lea. They throw away the doll and move to a new place as John completes his residency. The doll once again appears in one of the boxes even though she was thrown out. But this time Mia decides to keep her anyway.

Can I just take a few seconds to exclaim how incredibly adorable little Lea is?

The second half packs some very frightening sequences. My favorite being when she goes to throw away the trash in the apartment's basement and SEES for the first time the entity who haunts her life in the guise of the doll. And it is horrible. It isn't anything like a doll. Or a human being. It is black, has pointy fingers, has horns and fire in his eyes. It is a demon.

Then begins a series of attempts made by Mia to grapple with what is happening around her. She gets in touch with the cop who investigated the ritual killings to get more information about the purpose of all the bloodshed which she thinks is related to her supernatural predicament. She asks for help from her new neighbour who has a painful past of her own. She seeks out her priest who while trying to get rid of the doll gets knocked out cold by it and ends up seriously hurt in the very same hospital where John works. He warns John that his wife is in grave danger. The last 7 minutes or so of the movie are crucial but you somehow make out how it would end. Every character has a purpose, a role and is not there for complicating the story.
In the end we are taken back to the point which shows us how Annabelle ended up with the nurses and in that way the movie comes full circle closing the loop.
Decent performances by all. I don't know why but the lead actress, whose name is coincidentally Annabelle Wallis, reminds me of the movie Rosemary's Baby.

All in all not as scary as The Conjuring but a decent watch.

But do pick up a copy of The Demonologists if you can.

Entertainment Ke Liye...

entertainment
ɛntəˈteɪnm(ə)nt/
noun
the action of providing or being provided with amusement or enjoyment.

When I Google the definition of the word 'entertainment' I am furnished with the above.

But do I enjoy watching somebody being insulted? Does it amuse me in any way to see someone being mortified?

All in the name of entertainment.

Maybe Google got it wrong. But Big G NEVER gets it wrong. We all know that, don't we?

One of the most reputed media house in my country definitely differs in this regard.

That one of India's leading newspapers has been loosing it's sanctity block by block was evident to me for quite a while now, but yesterday I felt as if it descended to a different level when a quite tasteless article about a popular actress which simply doesn't go with something of their stature was splattered all over their entertainment daily.

A week ago, the same faction of media had posted a rather disgraceful video online. It didn't go down well with the actress who was in the middle of it all and she retaliated with stern replies clearly indicating she was hurt. As is the case with that thing called Social Media, a flurry of comments followed the incident within minutes. Some of them in solidarity with the actress, some of them as mere spectators scrolling their smart screens with their fingers, and a major chunk of them composed of people that we have all been at some point - the voyeurs.

That gene we all possess that makes us get all worked up and crazy excited about something about somebody we may or may not personally know. But it sure is something we would definitely like to know. There was nonstop trolling, a dash of jeering with a sprinkling of uninhibited and undisguised contempt which flowed through the thread of replies.

An apology was demanded.

But a sleazeball explanation was furnished.

They wanted the world to know the actress's 'beauty.'

You see, awareness was their only motto.

175 years of alleged excellence explained in one brief moment.

The virus of voyeurism coupled with a fierce and adamant need to assume that it is what it is being served as - entertainment.

The question that arises is this: What exactly are we being served in the name of entertainment?

Because, from where I stand it looks like utter crap.

And it is highly dangerous that they publish such unseemly content in the newspaper just because they were accused of wrongdoing in the first place. Doesn't this raise questions on the use - or rather - misuse of power? Seniority in most places is misunderstood, misinterpreted and highly misused. This incident is an example of this. How low can somebody get to prove their point?

In times when we as a nation are grappling with the horribly disintegrating condition of women's safety earning us a spot among some of the most dangerous countries for women, why are we not focused on doing something about amending the required laws - making it more stringent so that the rabid rate at which these crimes are being committed can be eradicated?

Why are we so interested in somebody's vital statistics and making sure the world knows about it? What future does that hold for our journalism?

Where do we draw the line? Is there a demarcation about what is and what is not admissible as news material?

There was a time when teachers recommended reading newspapers to us students. Now when one peruses a newspaper, they just don't know what sort of un-newspaperly content awaits them.

And it just doesn't stop at the threshold of good old news. As long as you have content that would grab attention - be it of any kind, it is alright. In fact it is actually only better.

Even if it is a shady ice cream commercial dripping with innuendoes.  Or a certain mango drink. And don't even get me started on deodorants.

In the end it is all about proving a point that we are a part of a sexually liberated society and that discussing it openly should not raise eyebrows. Because that is the modern thing to do. That is the 'in' thing. And if you are the one who does raise an objection to the same then you are tagged archaic. Regressive. A narrow minded individual. Or a hypocrite.

There is no denying the fact that people get influenced by what they see or read or hear in the media. There was nothing wrong when the  Mumbai Police called upon leading filmmakers to curb the extent of sex and violence in movies. The trend of  sexualizing things even when there's no scope for it just to get everybody's attention is just plain unnecessary. I was surprised to find that movies like 'Insidious' and 'The Conjuring' are aired on TV with significant chops even though there is no need for it while popular brands churn out advertisements that always border on being vulgar. Take the example of the daily delivered to my house everyday which divulges details about some peculiar celebrity couple in a faraway country that practice their yoga naked( why would I be interested in that little tidbit of information). Only to be greeted by cases after cases of rape - fresh and ongoing, in the ensuing pages.

The Girl Who Was Never There

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. 

“We are all wonderful, beautiful wrecks. That's what connects us--that we're all broken, all beautifully imperfect.”

― Emilio Estevez

"All I could find that was worth looking is this diary," said a man dressed as a cop - one hand held a flashlight and the other held an old and highly worn out diary. 

"Bag it. Tag it. You know it," a second voice boomed from the other room. 

It was a slightly chilly morning as two policemen rummaged the house of a woman who had died the previous morning. She lived alone and had no one who could claim her body. The police had been searching for clues everywhere. Her workplace wasn't much of a help. It seemed that the girl, all of 24, was the meekest little thing on Earth. Colleagues described her as a shy personality. Not much of a talker. Sincere at work though. In order to find some link to her vague life, the police ended up at her doorstep. It looked as if their search would be futile.

********

...September 19, 2012

..What is up with the people these days? They become rabid in crowded places. Yeah, yeah we all have somewhere to get to. So we become a herd. All of us. I think me too. To some extent. Guilty. ;)

I think one day we would turn to robots. Killed on the inside by monotony. Routine! Ugh!

September 28, 2012

Saw a cat in the middle of the road. Poor thing was injured. Picked it up and placed it on the footpath. Was already running late for work or else I really would've taken it to the vet or something. Strangely, it was nowhere to be seen when I was returning in the evening. I don't want to think of what may have happened to it. The world is too cruel. It doles out unspeakable horrors on those that are able enough to raise their voice. I shudder to think what it could do to beings that can't even speak up.

September 30, 2012

Agnes from work suggested we go out for a bite at the new place after our shift ends. I didn't go. Push people away. If people came along with signs, that is what mine would read. She went anyway. Everyone. Even the new department head. He is... He is sort of beautiful.

October 15, 2012

Busy! Busy! Busy! Phew! I am up to my eyeballs in work. And that's not me exaggerating. Have to stay back late sometimes. I am okay. Do I have an option? Hmm. He is a hard worker. The new guy. It motivates me to see him so involved in what he does. He really is something.

October 20, 2012

One of those days when everything just puts you off... There are so many faces in the crowd which plaster a smile as they walk every day. Chances are they aren't really that sunshiny on the inside. For them every day is a battle. A tedious journey to embark upon. Whether they like it or not is another matter.

October 23, 2012

Thunderstorms. Are. So. Scary. It doesn't help that I am all alone in this house. I miss my mom. She would've been right beside me on nights like this.

October 24, 2012

Uh... New guy at work actually stays in front of my apartment. Like I can actually see him as he goes about his usual day. He's reading something on his phone as I write this. Yeah. I can see him. He looks good in a suit. ;)

November 5, 2012

Saw an old couple walking hand in hand today in the park. Looked like he genuinely cared for her. They kept looking into each other's eyes every now and then. It was affectionate. The lady kept talking about something and then the older man interrupted her midway with a comment that had her in splits. They seemed so happy and content to me. I remembered my Mom. She never had that.

November 18, 2012

Static in my head. Got no words... Nothing to say.

November 20, 2012

Why do all the good people have to go away so soon? Its unfair. And illogical. I don't know how or what procedure He follows while writing people's lives. Is there a rule book for Him? The God Protocol. Ha ha ha ha! That was a good one.

November 22, 2012

Sufa. That's his name. It is so different. He is so different. It's so typical of someone like me to start liking someone even if they don't really know the person that well. But I really do like him. He is not like the rest. I have seen him as he goes about his house each morning and night. I stand near my window just enough so that I can see him and also conceal myself. I don't want him catching me staring at him. Stalking him. God no! I just... I don't know...

November 25, 2012

A homeless man died on the street today. They said he died in his sleep. And there's no one that knows much about him. A loner. A nobody. I know how that feels like.

November 30, 2012

He reads. A lot! Every Sunday he goes up to the bookstore down town and gets at least a dozen books which he devours really fast. I wish I could go through his collection.

December 4, 2012

I see him getting in his car every day - which is a Jaguar by the way - when I am leaving for work. He is impeccably dressed as always. Our paths are so close to intersection each day. Yet it never really happens. Half of me wishes it could happen. Half of me starts palpitating at the thought of him near me.

December 15, 2012

He is different when he is around people and different when he is all alone. And he does live all alone. Which is strange because he really is a catch. I have seen women swooning at the sight of him. But it's like he shuts that part of him. I mean everybody gets lonely right?

December 25, 2012

It's Christmas. The streets are decked up with lights! I love looking at them as they twinkle. I could do that all night. His house is shrouded in darkness though. But I can make out even through the darkness - his silhouette as he sits on the floor.

Sometime later in the night when all is quiet and I go out to the window, I can hear strains of Blue Christmas by Elvis Presley streaming through his window.

December 30, 2012

He looked tired today. There were shadows underneath his eyes. Maybe he misses someone? Like I miss my Mom. Maybe he is as lonely as I am?

December 31, 2012

Fireworks galore! New Year in a bit! He is not at home.

January 14, 2013

I thought I was going to get caught today as I got on the same elevator as him. Thank God there were other people.

Now, when I pen this down, I wonder whether it really would have mattered if he did see me. He would look at me. He might have seen me. In the office. As I sit behind my desk. But did he really see me? Even if he did, what next? He would walk away. And I would be as invisible as I am behind that curtain from where I observe him every day. I am living like a ghost. That scares me.

February 5, 2013

Drinking iced tea as I cuddle up on the bed watching The Heiress. Love that movie. Halfway through the movie I don't know why I get this strange urge to have his arms around me. And I love that feeling... Even if it is in my thoughts.

February 14, 2013

Yeah I know that whole speech that people give about the significance of this day (I am not even going to say it) that it has been commercialized and all but people still go cuckoo crazy over it. I mean people talk about it and if they don't talk about it they definitely think about it. Which is even more awful. I wonder if he has a girlfriend stashed away somewhere. Very hush-hush. You know... An extremely beautiful woman that has the honor of holding his heart. And nurturing it. I don't like the thought of him being with someone else. I am going crazy. I have got to stop. Stop doing this to yourself.

June 18, 2013

I have lifted my self-imposed ban on writing in my journal. I had thought it would help me get away from him. His thoughts. In my thoughts. But it’s only gotten worse. And it is worse because I want him and yet want to maintain a distance. Because I know this is too unrealistic. Why would someone like him want to be with me? Who am I really? No points for guessing! This is frustrating. Living with two different ideologies in your head. Both potent and strong. Both pulling you in different directions.

July 9, 2013

Two teenage girls running around their father in the mall today. Hankering him for something they wanted. He finally relents and they get what they want. It always amazes me. Actually puts me in a daze. Whenever I see kids bothering their parents for something - anything. A doll, a dress, a new bat, a phone, pair of shoes, another pair of shoes. And how the parents get cajoled in the end. And they let them have their way. I can't remember a day when I had done that. If I wanted something I could look at it and sigh every time I passed it. And then as I got older I had to work for it. Never had the luxury of people buying things for me. Never had the autonomy of a choice.

July 27, 2013

Silences have such dual connotations. Sometimes they are so inviting - just what you need. Sometimes they are so deafening - so hollow and solitary. I can discern my own breathing pattern as I sit on my bed. My mom always said that there would be someone. For me. She said, "He would really see you for who you are and appreciate that. What the world fails to comprehend he would understand and love you for it..."

Mothers always say the nicest of things to their children, don't they? :)  Because we are their children. 

August 12, 2013

Pouring outside. Buckets. Cats and dogs.

August 17, 2013

I abhor myself at this point. I am like a sloppy little puppy... And the worst part is I know it but I still can't do anything about it. It is so irritating when the object of your desire is blissfully unaware of your affections. Great! Now I've spilled coffee on the table. Just great!

September 5, 2013

Down with a cold. Nasty one. And I have been prescribed all these ugly looking capsules. They make me want to hurl at their sight.

September 22, 2013

I almost thought he saw me at work today. I mean not just seeing but also recognizing me. Almost. Wishful thinking. Heard another girl at work say that he isn't married. And he doesn't really have a girlfriend either. Feel guilty for eavesdropping. She said that his parents live separately and that his father remarried. He is an only child.

October 12, 2013

What is it about broken things that makes you want to fix them?

October 26, 2013

I laid eyes on the most marvelous sight today when I saw him laughing. He laughed. During a regular meeting, (where my presence was lost into oblivion as always) Jones from Accounts said something about... Well I don't remember what but that cracked him up. At first it started with a slow shy smile that then it broke into a full-fledged chuckle of a laugh. He looked even more beautiful. My heart unconsciously uttered a prayer to mend all that was broken inside him. And that he always stays like this. Happy.

November 18, 2013

I pray for him now. Every day. And I think its working. I think. Because I see him beaming more often now. He seems happy. But is he?

December 9, 2013

Saw my Mom in my dreams today. Woke up sobbing in the middle of the night. Wished I had someone to comfort me. To tell me that things will be alright. That it would all work out in the end. Fool me by giving me something to hold onto. Like that relentless thing called hope.

December 25, 2013

He's not at home tonight. And it is late. Normally I would have gone to sleep but there's this nagging thought in my mind that something's wrong. I wait for him to show up. Maybe he's out to meet his parents. That could be it right? But he doesn't show up for another two hours. And then the lights in his house flicker to life. And I see him. But he's walking in a weird way. Almost stumbling at every step. He's drunk. And then he plops down on his couch. He looks sad. It's crazy but it’s like I can feel what he's going through. Am I going crazy?

That urge bobbed its head up again. And it is so strong. Unlike anything I have ever felt before. I want to go there. To him. I imagined what it would be like. If I could go there and... Just sit beside him. Listen to him. Comfort him. Anything to make him feel alright. My hands ached to touch him. To run my fingers in his hair. Maybe words would get superfluous then.

A tear unknowingly rolls out of my eye. I sit there by the window until he passes out on the couch. And then I spend my night watching him sleep.

God, mend what is broken in him.

January 21, 2014

I don't know why but I have this recurring thought in my head.

What do people think of when they die? What are their last thoughts?

********

 It was a buzzing Monday morning. Just like any other day. Or so everyone thought. 

A young girl in her 20s was fast making her way through the busy streets. 

Her gait interrupted as she saw something on the opposite side of the street. 

The oblivious crowd failed to see her stop short as she saw him standing on the other side. 

A young man emerged from the apartment building and made his way towards his silver Jaguar. 

On any other day, he would've gotten in it in a huff and driven away. On any other day he would've been in a hurry. On any other day he wouldn't have noticed his surroundings. 

But this was not any ordinary day.

Not for these two anyway. 

Something struck him. A vision. Something he thought his eyes had perceived as he emerged from the building. Something that he felt he just shouldn't ignore. 

He lifted his head before entering his car and his dejected eyes alighted on a girl that was standing on the opposite end of the street. 

He had never seen her before but she somehow felt familiar to his senses. As if he had known her. 

He looked at her for a good handful of seconds. Unbeknownst to his own self, a smile had spread across his beautiful features. 

She was too nervous to move. 

She had to remind herself to breathe as she saw him getting in his car and driving away.

He saw her. He had seen her. Finally, she was visible. She wasn't a ghost anymore. 

She felt more alive in that moment than she had ever felt in her entire life. 

Her lungs were alight with new life. Her veins pumped more ferociously. 

She felt as if she were floating. 

She started crossing the street in a daze. 

She didn't see the bus.

That's when it happened. 

The crowd now awake from their banal routine gathered around a lifeless body. There was commotion. There was noise. 

There lay amidst them a corpse unlike any other.

Even in death her lips were hinted with a smile. 

She was finally seen.