Love, A War

                                                                

Her hand in his, they slowly climbed up the stairs. She was, inherently, overjoyed by the thought of his coming home. Not every woman of her age and stature had that benefit. But she, surprisingly, found herself blissful with just the feeling that the empty shack with memories of young love hung on its door would not remain so empty anymore. Or rather, his existence would fill the indelible void, in pursuit of which she had lost her way. This moment felt unreal and just that should have been a hint enough. But, no, his hopeful eyes always overshadowed her cynical mind, and she walked at a pace so gentle, only for him and because of him.

Her mind, every now and then, sneaked out through the back door and left her fazed with a jigsaw of memories. Some with eroded edges and others simply missing. The past year she had spent burning the midnight oil for him and now, she felt, it was his time to stop her from having to do so. 

But, Present. She needed to stay here with him. She couldn't let him become a figment of her imagination like always. 

It's time, he thought. His eyes dim with fear, a burning anxiety sparked in his gut as his eyes looked at her with an evasive passion. 

He looked down and she felt the butterfly churning in her stomach transform into a breathless fury. The door behind him opened and she knew where he had gotten her. Before his mouth could utter the symbolic words, she hugged him, and began to sob. Not to stop him, for she knew there was no way he could stay, but rather because she could not bear to keep it in for a one more year. He kept whispering, "I love you. I will be back. You have to go now." repeatedly, but the uncertainty of his words struck her worse than the pang of foretold death. Her body clung to him, taking in the sweet scent of his ironed blazer that he so proudly wore. His body felt like comfort even with so many layers on. But it failed to give her strength. She would, if she could, breathe in the claustration of his existence for the rest of her life, than in the mesmerizing air of solidity. 

But time is time, and it was time to go. Again.

As he let go off her, she realised how he had been the one holding on to her, contrary to what she thought.

“Forge Meaning. Build Identity”

So today I was browsing YouTube and I happened to come across the latest TED Talks video featuring Andrew Solomon, a writer on politics, culture and psychology.

Now there’s obviously no need for me to go into the depth of his eloquent flow of words, but the motto or the conclusive message of his 20 minute long talk was “Forge Meaning. Build Identity”.

He stressed it enough, believe me.

We’re all skipping through life and daily monotony in search of some abstract idea of meaning that has been implanted in our heads. We believe in the existence of a coherent answer that lies behind every activity taking place in the universal lap. But that often leaves us confused and fidgety.

So they tell us there are answers but who is going to lead us to the answers? Not the butterflies of Hogwarts for sure! Who, then, will accompany us on this voyage of a particularly vague self-actualization?

I think Andrew Solomon answered it brilliantly. His message in my words, of course.

Throughout the course of our life, series of events, bad and good, tragic and euphoric, take place. And that makes us who we are, undoubtedly. But a lot of us lack the courage to admit this, to take those instances and twist them in our way. We live in the misinterpretations of these episodes and keep seeking some weird revelation, we expect, will change our doomed lives. We get lost in this tangled web of expectations and dreams without realising that we can do something else instead. We can take this situation and create a meaning. The meaning that we want it to be, the message that we want to carry life-long with us.  

All successful men and women have not gone through the societal definition of a ‘rough’ childhood or even adulthood, for that matter. However, they have all gone through something that wasn't smooth and the one similarity they all possess is the message they derived from these rugged paths of life. All those autobiographies in the market can vouch for that!

So, basically, the idea is to grab a situation by its wrist and forge a meaning, a lesson, an understanding of it. We can ‘seek’ ample of ‘meanings’ in life, but what brings better satisfaction than having an Individual Something that brings humongous amount of composure?

What next?

Next is the foretelling of telling these stories. Once we’re at peace with the stories that haunt us, we start to see them in a different light. We see them, not as mistakes, but as the building bricks to the person we are today. We see them as the life we had and not the life we had to suffer. Maybe not necessarily as an opportunity or anything. But something better than the worse we thought we knew.  

And I guess, that’s when we begin to understand ourselves. Not in a very decisive way but in a way that makes us feel like we have an identity that is distinct from what people or anyone has tried to thrust upon us.  An identity that we want to share via the disappointment loaded tales from the creeks of our minds.

It’s obviously not a cake walk as I make it sound, but it’s worth a try. And moreover, it’s a beautiful perspective that Andrew Solomon has given me and it will probably intrigue for a while.

A Work of Fiction

“It was easy to commiserate. Figuring out others and feeling for them had never been her problem. It was the inexplicable insides of her breathing existence that proved to be the hardest.” She read this line and felt a sudden soulful silence associate with her obvious soundlessness. Each book has that one line that gives you the chills every time you read it. She had found that line in this book. Flipping the page, she tried to go on but her mind kept tracing its way back to that line and finally she decided to close the book and just lie for a while. Her cranium pressed between the pillows but her mind swinging to and forth between the loose ends of that sentence. It was uncanny and a first, how she felt so lost because normally books made her comfortable. The activity of being in someone’s story where you know what’s waiting ahead and where the present has an understandable past had always given her a morbid comfort.

In evidently, she found her thoughts ooze to the root of the cause. It was her, wasn't it? Always drowned in other’s corpulent stories made up of necessary lies, manipulating her way through and reciting it to a third. But she could never fathom herself, and to top it off, she wouldn't let anyone else help her either.

What was she doing this time? What was the point of dangling between two polarized indecisive emotions and not even discussing it with anyone? But that was her. Stupid and fretful and unfair to everyone close to her.

“It was a mistake. It had been a mistake since the first day and he had dragged it so far. Looking back, all he saw was her needy innocence and how her courage stepped back more often than her heart stepped forward.” Some cosmic force in his head made him put down his book and think of that last one. A girl, of course. Not the usual type, different. A good different. He barely ever thought of her, except for those few subdued moments of guilty pleasure when she contacted him. But these lines had described her and forced his heart to concede to the fact that maybe, just maybe, he had on purpose become oblivious to her rainy efforts.

But he was like that, he accepted it. But he didn't. He simply hid his massive self-deprecation behind the covers of bold mean-boy fragility. Something he thought she had almost figured but by then it was time to run past and leave behind some nominal amount of damage. He had mostly been with sycophants. But she wasn't one. She was a big heap of pretentious wisdom hoping to keep her lack of faith in everything and everyone a secret. How well she slept each night beneath the boulder. Just like him.

But he’d been terrified by the thought of her sussing out the reason behind his shadowy walk and lifeless happiness, and so he had to just take it as slow as possible but disappear quickly. Because he was, indubitably, afraid of being loved despite his brittleness. Even though he kind of hoped for it.

And here they were, the two of them, just like the countless many, who may have passed each other on the street, finding a part of themselves in a work of fiction. And yet doing nothing about it because who wants to take risks in the dark?

The Present

So we've heard it a million times by peers, family, teachers or even pets, for those of you who talk to them. That the future is a pointless worry, the past a fruitless land. The present must be dwelled in and the present is all that matters.

That is, to some extent, correct.  Pondering over the atrocities and unfairness that took place in the past is a relentless journey that doesn't end. It hurts us and keeps us from achieving what we are most capable of. It is a downright horror! But, how tempting  the devil’s invitation can be! It’s a part of us, a part that has loose threads of memories hanging from it. Some you want to cut off and the others you want to stitch back. The old cliché says that times heals all wounds and so we gather up a tad bit of that faith and leave the mess on the floors of our heads, hoping for it to fly away with the next stroke of strong breeze.

The Future has its own viruses. It is the land of anxieties having anxieties. Let me put it this way, if we feed on the past then it would be safe to say that the future feeds on us. We keep its non-existence alive by letting it swirl in our heads and mess around. Maybe because we were always taught to think of the brighter future or the bigger picture and stuff like that. What they should have taught us instead was to NOT THINK TOO MUCH ABOUT THE UNCERTAIN FUTURE. Because looking back I just wish someone would have taught me that. But we’re all just slaves to the same old human flaws thrust upon us.

So what does that leave us with? Oh yes, the good old Present which never exactly gets old but it’s a dear constant.

 I don’t think anyone ever points out the dark side of living in the present. There’s the merry boat ride that takes place every day in the present. It begins with us reaching beyond horizons, aiming high, taking chances, believing and it ends with a lot of positive energy, a smile and a tinge of small success leaving us euphoric.

But then there’s the dungeon on the boat where most of us find ourselves in at some point or the other. This dungeon is, regardless to say, dark and dingy with bats and made up monsters that basically look like they’re just there to ruin everything for us. What am I talking about? Why, it’s the obvious day to day fiascoes we come across. Maybe a fight with a friend or the abysmal loneliness that strikes or simply a bad day. They pull you down in the moment and the suction makes it impossible to breathe. The good news, well, it doesn't last that long. So that’s the side we should all be aware of.

It’s a long journey ahead and the past and the future aren't going to leave us that soon, honestly. We’re kind of stuck there. And in that moment of wholesome regrets or worries and no shelter we will run to the present and expect this glorious amount of bright light shining in our faces but that’s not going to happen. The bright light isn't always going to be there and even when it is, it may only be enough to sneak in through the crevices of our insecurities. But that’s when we need to be able to look for it because that is what will save us and not some oblivious escapade we were planning to meet up with.

Still Sad and Too Young to be so

I don't know who I am and I don't know where I am headed either, and that scares me at times because I don't have anyone's hand to hold. I am a part of that magnitude where everyone is trying to cover up their brokenness by appearing to be fixed. Some days, I don't want to be a part of it, but the force of habit is greater than the force of enfranchisement. I am a creation of my very own wreck, and I tend to let people walk all over me.
I lie and not just too others. I am easily disturbed in the most secretive manner.
And some days, actually most days, I am just not good enough.
But in between it all, I do have my good days.
But I'm still sad and too young to be so."I lie and not just too others. I am easily disturbed in the most secretive manner.And some days, actually most days, I am just not good enough. But in between it all, I do have my good days.But I'm still sad and too young to be so.

A Quest

I met him on the corner of my untouched thoughts which were surfacing for the millionth time, victimized by my ignorance. He was mean and brutal but one of a kind. He refused to stop talking and I found myself unable to walk away, only because his words possessed a certain irrefutability which even my ignorance could not overpower. So I heard him all throughout and concluded that he was searching. Searching like the pirates in the sea, like a honeybee among the flowers, like a mother who took her eyes off her son for a second or the others who walk down the street with a profoundly unfed thirst.
But searching for what? Meaning? Purpose? Answer? They're all looking for one or the other.
But what does each one lead to?
Belonging?
Each one may lead to a strong feeling of connection with something each one desires or wants, maybe? Or maybe it's the heart's hunger? I wouldn't say 'soul', because soul is such an abstract concept. It means something different to every person. Each soul has it's own words to describe it. Besides, I think 'soul' is exploited way too much without pure understanding.
So yes, belonging. But why particularly belonging? I'd like to explain this in Dilip Chitre's words,
"Man's estrangement from a man-made world."
We all lack a sense of connection, not just with each other but with ourselves. And I know I just said the most cliche thing ever but I believe it's true. Things have changed, obviously. With a number of debates on 'Technology: A boon or Bane' rising, it has become clear that we're all struggling in that aspect of our lives. Aimless sauntering of curious minds is no more possible due to the overburdening of it by a lot of 'shit', in a metaphoric sense of course. With a very few real relationships and the explicitly dangerous world passing along at such a fast pace, it is difficult to keep the paranoia under a wrap.
So what does one do? One succumbs to confinement in different ways. And it's all downhill from thereon.

Guess who has a typewriter :D

The streets

Life is beautiful and the beauty starts right from the streets. The only place where you can find minds unexplored, hearts unloved, dreams unspoken and lives untouched.
Makes you wonder how we miss it out, right?

Here. Yet again.

He wanted her to stay.
Finding himself falling into the valley of expected horrors, he barely panicked. These deadly moors hiding behind white curtains had begun to swindle him again. And he, conceded.

Alas, he found himself exactly there. There. The one place he had been running away from. All this while.

Misguided

"She felt misguided, like she had led them all in the wrong direction.
Her passion wasn't writing or maintaining a stock of pretty notebooks or a humongous wardrobe of clothes.
Her passion was deception.
The mere act of faking."