This could be the end...

This scent – it takes me back to you and me

So quick; I’m overcome

I convulse

At the very thought of your warm, dark skin

Its not a fashionable scent this one

It’s a very comfortable, lived-in one

It’s the smell of you every day that I knew you

Every day that I thought would be the rest of our lives

This morning you walked into my dream uninvited

You were the same you, yet somehow different

You spoke about the new ‘her’ in your life

And I couldn’t take my mind off your promises

Of there being no other—besides me…

Music almost always accompanies this scent

A lovely, soulful riff

Just like you

This time around, somewhere in the background, someone is singing—‘This could be the end’

And I am surprised

For I wish it is—the end

I wish you’d leave

I wish you wouldn’t live in this scent anymore

I wish you hadn’t grown tired of me

I wish you weren’t so indiscreet

I wish for so much

That sometimes I wish I didn’t know how to wish…

This could be the end...

Accidentals

Somewhere deep inside my heart

Lies a fraction

That only lights when it hears an accidental

It glows in the warmth of all the strange notes

In all sorts of songs

Songs about love

And loss

And all that jazz

Songs about beginnings

And ends

And all the messy parts in between

Sometimes I wish this fraction

Would put together all of these accidentals

Into a set

That my heart would play on repeat

For ever and ever

So I’d never have to listen to anything less beautiful

Anything less…

And so, I could live like this forever

Forever numb, forever cold…

Accidentals

You!

You,
With your deep, deep eyes
And your childish smile
You make me laugh the warmest laugh
Each time you touch my heart

And you
With your wild, wild ways
You have got me ensnared
You make me smile the biggest smile
From somewhere deep inside

And you
I didn't think it would be this simple
I never could have dreamt of all of this
And now that I have it all, within reach
I worry that it might go... away

You!

Numb

I want to force myself to write,

I am too pacified,

too content, 

with my existence,

and with yours.

Nothing bothers me, 

irks me into the frenzied dependence on my pen as an intoxicant

Nothing forces me into taking refuge in the pages of some words, some story.

I want to, I need to, I would like to be able to...

Can this be real? Could I be too numb to write?

I am too numb.

For after deep turmoil comes numbness!

Or does it?

I cannot tell.

Can you? Tell me? How to get out of this, out of here, where I am, stuck, it seems, for an excruciating eternity?

Maybe if I hurt myself, if I thought about bad things, I would be driven into that frenzy, like actors are. Don't they go to a bad time in life to be able to cry?

I could do that.

It wouldn't be tough!

Wouldn't it?

I cannot tell.

Sitting here, unmoved, un-anything.

They say you should just start, start writing, anything, everything, just make a move at least.

That sounds fair enough.

Or does it?

I cannot tell.

But it doesn't hurt to try...

Numb

God resides within Me...

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it” – Rumi

Be it love for a soul-mate or love for God, for I seek both, this makes sense to me… Fortunately, I sometimes forget about my search for a soul-mate… helps me live for myself and also not make any mistakes anymore, for this time around, I am not settling for anything less.

I’ve been searching for God for sometime now. Without looking for him at home, I’ve given up the search here. That’s probably because everything in my life tells me that he (will call him ‘he’ for convenience’ sake) is not here, if ‘here’ is where I live. He isn’t here because here statues are worshipped, and adorned, and blindly given one’s everything to whilst the beggar on the street dies on a cold, winter morning, not too far from one’s house. Here is where your people killed people who believe in another version of God – may be a bearded one or a turbaned one. God does not live where humans kill each other in his name. For all that he might or might not be; he isn’t someone who can allow such a thing.

So, when I went to a place where they believed in peace because their god strongly recommended it, I was tempted to join them… and follow their god. Then I found out that that would need for me to read a whole lot of literature and scriptures… and my heart didn’t urge me to make that effort.

I then came back to our gods, here, where I live. Someone close to my heart was going through a period of fire. That someone didn’t find it hard to find God; so, I followed in their footsteps and tried to find God in my rosary beads, in my bedtime prayers, in my chants, and my pleading, my tears… all for that someone to not be made to suffer.

Did I find God? No.

I still can’t understand that time. How did I manage to, for that period of time, believe and pray?

Today, I find around me, answers like… God resides within me, as myself… God resides in my heart… Whatever you do, don’t break someone’s heart because God resides in every person’s heart…

I think I will continue to look for him, for an ethereal support system but until that time… I can live with this - God resides within me, as myself!

God resides within Me...

The Joys of Being Woman Friday at a Travel Cafe

My friend Aeshna Roy has recently started a fantastic blog - content to design, all great; and it ought to be, considering she is an editor and chief designer at a leading publishing house. 

She has decided to dedicate a part of this virtual space to people who have really interesting jobs and ergo enjoy their work. The first interview that she's done is with none other than yours truly. 

It goes something like this: 

 

There are just so many interesting and downright awesome things people do from 9 to 5. I love meeting people who do exciting, different things as part of their work and really enjoy what they do. 

One such person is Shruti Sharma, the self-proclaimed 'Woman Friday' at the Kunzum Travel Cafe in Hauz Khas. She manages the media presence and develops online content for Kunzum, and also helps out (read sits around, chats with guests and drinks coffee) at their hugely popular cafe. Kunzum encourages people to visit, have coffee (you pay what you like for your coffee/tea/cookie!), share travel stories, pick up travel tips from other travelers and generally unwind. Shruti is also a voice-over artist when she's not (wo)manning the ship at Kunzum. 

Read more here...

I would like to take this opportunity to thank Aeshna; I'm honoured to be the first one to have been featured in this unique space.

The Joys of Being Woman Friday at a Travel Cafe

Unicornucopia

I just can’t get enough of ‘love’. Every morning, some say, I wake up with a smile; I know I wake up wondering (with a smile), how many are going to love me that day and how much are they going to love me—that is my elixir! Shouldn’t that be the case with everyone?

Sometimes we forget; I do too—we forget, what a few loving words can do, what wonders, what miracles… I wish I’d never say anything unloving to anyone; but I do, many times.

Sometimes I wish I could live at the airport, and every minute of every day of every week of every month of every year, my people would come and meet me, on repeat, with gargantuan love, and never tire of doing so. 

Sometimes I wish I had six pairs of limbs, a much bigger mind and an even bigger heart, so I could do everything that everyone wants me to do for them, not seek anything in return, and seal the deal with a big, massive hug.

Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t tire of songs like ‘Happiness’ and ‘Don’t worry, be happy’, and listen to them on repeat all my life.

Sometimes I wish that Rajkumar, the mongrel who lives on my street and whom I love dearly had a horn on its head, and could fly. Then again, he is equally amazing without all of that.

Sometimes I wish I could imprint on every person I ever met.

Sometimes I wish for my son to have been born at the same time as me; I wish we could grow up together.

Sometimes I wish for a whole lot of things that cannot come true… but its all right.


*Reference: ‘Twilight Series’; Imprinting is the involuntary mechanism by which shapeshifters find their soul-mates.

Unicornucopia