The Armour.

Flaming red lips, clinking metal and glass, fingers slipping through pages turned,

Lazy curls falling down her nape, caressing what your fingers had dreamt of a million times.

Looking up you knew her kohl-lined gaze pierced right through and way beyond,

After all, it wasn’t a floating ghost you had opened the doors of your wounded soul to.

The endless talk hidden behind lit screens, a snug little corner, all you ever asked for,

Your imagination living stories that only your fingers could conjure up.

The moment of truth, that moment she had dreaded and you not,

The tables turned, with a blink of a veiled eye, vulnerabilities out on the lot.

A brave frontier? A naked fear? A clear blurred line, evidently obnoxious.

It wasn’t just your bubble anymore, but stark reality, in flesh and in bone.

You knew her story, you knew her hands, you knew her breath, you knew her kind.

But the only thing that you could fathom henceforth, was how much of you she knew or might.

All the hours after that you sat through, knowing you were running, running scared and running straight.

All the words you spewed that night, integrity forlorn, honesty denied.

Bits and pieces, your path traced by shattered facades or mere disappointment,

Were you running from her or your own shadow where your ghosts reside?

In holding up your weak tin walls, maybe you cracked open her steel-stoned vault,

Or maybe in her long line of breaches, you were the very last straw drawn.

Rest assured, she whispers poetry, she still draws dragons and traces stars,

A dragon she puts behind an armour now, an armour of everything that you were not.

Nostalgia.

Nostalgia is a bitch they say. I never understood what that meant until we stopped being who we were and became who we are right now. We are still us, the same people alright. But it doesn’t feel like the times are the same, obviously because things changed. But what things? Because I don’t remember there ever being a ‘thing’. Well, not anything that we acknowledged of course. You know what’s weird though, that nostalgia hits every single night, every damn sundown. And yeah, it does hurt like a bitch.

Remember the little game the PE teacher made us play back in school where we had to take a step forward for every ‘Yes’ to his questions? Yeah, I think that was our game. The only difference being that we weren’t in the same line like back in the day, we were at opposite ends of the court. We asked the questions, we answered the questions and we took the steps too. I guess I just didn’t realise the moment when I stopped asking them and just stayed in the game for you, but apparently you played by the rules only skipping the one that said you couldn’t skip mine.

Of course I do not understand, I never do to be honest. It’s funny, it doesn’t even make me mad anymore. I wasn’t even surprised when I realised I was halfway past the court by the time I saw that I had no audience, not even you. The game had ended, just like that, broken rules and well not broken but a slightly dented heart. So what are the rules now? Because I never made them, I only played to your tune. I told you I do not like games, half because I do not understand them and the other obvious half being that I somehow always lose.

I remember watching the sun go down together, swaying legs and beating hearts, we were never great talkers. Contrary to Harry’s beliefs, comfortable silence is so not over-rated. I liked the quiet with you, I liked that you just held my hand and didn’t kiss me when the sun went down. Kisses really weren’t our thing either, we were weird that way. Kindred spirits I called us, because we definitely weren’t soulmates. You didn’t understand my words, you said they weren’t made for you but you know what you said after though? You said you only listened to them because maybe I was made for you. You fucking bastard, always with the charm.

I’m still smiling writing this, I’m not mad and that kind of makes me mad if it makes any sense. I thought you meant something to me, that I owed you that sense of  togetherness. But turns out that I couldn’t have been more mistaken, you were okay on your own. You weren’t going to be my next charity case, and I definitely didn’t need one since I wished I could be someone’s myself. Even the thought of you makes me restless, only because I thought I’d let myself go again. I’m so glad I stayed sane, and I’m so glad you were way above my usual crazy dominoes. I call them dominoes because they always end up face down, never disappoint – not once.

I don’t think it’s you that I miss, I think it’s the way it felt to have what we had. I don’t know how it feels to you, specially with changed priorities but I feel a sense of emptiness. There is a space. Don’t get me wrong though, it isn’t uncomfortable or anything, it’s just very noticeable. My brain isn’t empty at the end of the day anymore, so many thoughts, so many many words. It’s hard to fall asleep knowing that you wouldn’t hold me for the same reasons, even if you did it would probably be because you were just too scared of a cold bed. It feels weird knowing that I’m probably not the last person you talk to anymore, definitely not the first person for sure.

You told me you had never been happier, I told you that it scared the hell out of me. You told me that you needed this, I told you that all I wanted to do was run away. You told me that I felt like home, I told you that it felt like a fucking storm. The day you knocked on my door at 3am, asking me if everything was alright; I swear to God I felt everything come crashing down. The irony of it all, our god-damned hearts. I hate your flannel shirts, I hate your stupid blue beads and I hate your stupid hugs that I never could resist. And you know what else I hate? I hate how you made me feel.

I let you in right at the time that you walked me out, I didn’t know and neither did you. I guess I lost my charm the day I held your hand before you held mine, you see, that was so not me and obviously you noticed. I watched you from across the table, smiling and talking just the same but your eyes wandered. It wasn’t other girls that caught your eye, it was just another life; a different future. You didn’t ask me if I’d written anything in my book anymore, you didn’t even tell me if you wrote anything in yours. I didn’t need to tell you the words that heartened me that day or the next or another, because I knew you didn’t care.

I’m not saying that you didn’t care about me anymore, because of course you did and you showed it too. You just didn’t care about us, the idea of us that you had planted yourself. You made extra effort, you brought home cake every Thursday, you tried almost too hard. The fact that even now I can’t just write a sentence and be done with it without going into an elaborate explanation just so you don’t misunderstand says a lot I think. We were never meant to be, just two lonely souls clinging to one another till the phase passed. It’s unfortunate though that yours passed sooner, and I’m still here trying to grab onto whatever little of it is left.

But you know what the hardest part of it all is? That it was all for nothing. My days are the same, actually better but the nights are just a little too long. You’re being so brave and pushing away, and you’re doing such a great job at it that’s it’s almost impossibly perfect. It’s not my Skype that rings when something is going on anymore, it’s just the door to your room that closes behind you. I still need to talk to you though, you don’t realize that and even if you do – you turn away. I don’t need you to be my wall, I need you to just let me be your shadow. I don’t need your cuddles anymore, because I sleep in your empty shirts these days.

You’ve let us slip too far, I let you do it but only after I tried clinging onto your shirt every damn night. But now I don’t feel the connection anymore either, honestly I’m starting to doubt if we ever even had one. Maybe all we had were your empty words, the castles you built in the air, making me its delusional princess. I am not going to give you peace by denying the hurt, I am not going to be a liar just because you thought it was okay to be one. I’m just going to let you go, just as easily as I let you in. That’s always been your specialty with me, hasn’t it? You get what you want, a little too easily. The room is empty once more, my bags are packed and unfortunately enough, so is my little heart.

Ball Rooms.

Six inch heels, high slits, red lips and champagne in hand – I stare out at the obnoxious luxury strewn all across the ballroom so vast. 

Everyone decked up in their best and at their finest, like an exhibition of absurdity, being seen – the only demand.

Glittering chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling, shimmering dresses cascading down perfectly etched curves of every woman’s body.

The heavy elegant drapes on the high windows, the crisp cuts and button ups on the men with their chin up high and engaged in big words.

I fit in here, my world, I don’t feel the slightest unfamiliarity. My impeccable style on display, my engaging eyes and my indifference to stares just in place.

The invisible bubble that kept everyone at bay, always pulled up, they could look all they want but could never step into my playing field.

It wasn’t a conscious choice, nor was it completely out of character of me. I was known to be aloof, probably part of the appeal.

I liked the distance, the liberty, the mystery that came with a life not shared but yet overbearingly noticeable to say the least.

I look down at my hands, noticing light smudges of ink from an afternoon spent writing out in the meadow complete with the best bitter brew.

So many characters to be watched, even better than the ones I caught out the window from my usual corner at the town’s coffee house.

Even the most uninspiring of people inspiring my best work, the ones with instant charisma eventually floundering into anonymity.

My secret life on paper never rivalling the one I lived every time I closed the pages and put my pen away, each as dear to me as the other.

Too many people had stepped in, many pushed away and some pulled out. I was just too much to stand up to for anyone with a sense of self.

Why settle for mere spectators or men with egos that demanded constant feeding? Why cater to lives lived behind lit screens, words spewed with no actual integrity?

A woman of such influence, a rarity but not the last of her kind. My time and attention valued at a lot more than the societal subtleties for sure.

I might lace your body with words, trace your thoughts in poetry but know for sure, it’ll only be a wager against the substance you aspire to offer.

I like being someone’s tragedy, suits me better than having one of my own. No one survives my fleeting thoughts, specially not the ones that don’t strive to hold my gaze.

Narcissism you call it? I call it human nature. When you find a precious ruby in a pile of blood soaked rags, would you just leave it behind for someone else to find?

The one who chooses to unsee the wealth lying in a gory mess just because the shine is brighter than his own – I call him a fool and nothing more.

I let people walk away, I say my goodbyes with written words. I hold the sole keys to both my body and my mind, the only gatekeeper forever and beyond.

I sip the bubbles and smile at the scripts being lived out all around, knowing that I’m atleast not living mine blindfolded like the rest.

A selfish act each time I step into such grandeur, silently measuring time and reassuring myself of the lack of my own ignominy.

Realisations dwell in such places, places that remind me of my own ideals and perspectives that are worth striving against, every second an experience and every sight an opinion.

Consider it my drug of choice, my drug of addiction but not a drug that I can’t fight against. Everything is a choice I can make and I make this mine every chance I get.

People and words, words and people – twirling and entangling into one another. The beauty, the intrigue and a source of epiphanies rivalled by none other.

This one girl.

I can’t say it was love at first sight, I can’t even say I liked her the moment I met or saw her, because honestly I don’t even remember. I don’t really remember much of our first years together, but I remember being happy, carefree & just curious.

I was with her when she met mumma & papa for the first time, when she took her very first steps, when she tasted food for the very first time. I was with her through all her firsts, but honestly they’re all just hazy memories.

I remember being there when she first started dancing, being there for her very first standing ovation. I watched her write her very first poem, a simple 10 liner about the sun, she was 7 maybe. She made birthday cards for everyone because she loved drawing & colouring stuff. I wish I’d kept some of her work to show her now, every time she doubts herself, just to show her how wonderful she has been.

She bossed people around all through her teens even back in school when she was much younger. They called her the ‘Gang leader’. She loved all the attention, she knew she commanded it with her persona. I watched people failing to ignore her, she just was so out there! Every debate or seminar, every poetry or recitation, every drawing or collage making, every dancing or singing, every election or group task – there she was, always up for anything! Honestly, I personally thought she was extremely overbearing but chose to ignore it because people seemed to be impressed, they liked her, she’d so many friends.

She got her heart broken in high school, her very first heart break. No it wasn’t a boy, it was her best friend. She got defensive, she pushed her out & surrounded herself with even more people. She didn’t want to show people that anyone could hurt her, she wasn’t weak or dependent, also she had an ego. I knew this would be her very first mistake, because this was the worst defense strategy anyone could ever employ but I chose not to push it on her, I let her do her stuff.

The next few years were full of heartbreak, no boys here either, just girls going through their mean phase. She folded into herself each time it happened, I saw her curl up each time. It broke my heart to watch her look so scared, scared of nothing but people. She could handle anything, but people just got to her. I saw her try time & again, put herself out there & pull right back in. She didn’t sing or dance onstage anymore, but she didn’t stop either, she sang to herself, she danced in the shower or when she was alone. She just didn’t want to give people a chance to judge her, since she knew the authenticity of the applause was no more relevant.

The worst mistake I made was to let her out on her own, let her just daze through life pushing everyone away. I let her work her way through all these mazes of adulthood, I thought I should let her be, let her take care of herself & let her learn. I let her deal with her first actual heartbreak, I let her spiral out of control. She was 21, I didn’t realise she was too young to hold it all together. I forgot that people were her weakness, I watched her almost destroy herself. But just when I thought I’d lost her, she’d cling on, desperately wanting to be there irrespective of how or where, she just wanted to be there, just exist.

That’s when I realised she needed me, not as a mere spectator but she needed me to take control. The li’l girl was still there, but she’d faded to a mere reflection of who she used to be. Was it a choice? Maybe. She was over laden with insecurities, helpless & grabbing onto anything in desperation on her way down. Maybe everyone has been there at some point in their lives, but this was hers, as hard as it was, it was her battle to fight.

That’s when I took her hand, pulled her right back up. I took care of her like I’d take care of my own daughter. She needed to be fed, she needed to be dressed well, she needed to travel & see the world, she needed to be shown how pretty she was, how magical her hands were with words, to be appreciated for who she was & not for who she could be for someone else. I only had to draw out a map for her, she was up & about making it a journey. A journey she traced all by herself, each step taken so carefully just for herself. I’m not going to say she went back to being exactly herself because she didn’t, how could she? She grew out of it, she grew beautifully, she grew into someone I’m so proud of today. It took her all her life to be who she is today, her journey isn’t complete but she’s on her way & she knows where she’s going or atleast where she wants to be.

This girl whose metamorphosis I witnessed every second of her life, who I watched get through all of her tears & that of others as well, through all the smiles & laughter, the one who pushed & pulled & grappled with everything that came her way, this girl deserved everything I gave her.. She deserves a lot more & I’m going to do my very best to give her everything she deserves & dreams of..

This girl I’m so in love with right now, is Me – with a capital ‘M’ – because she is important. Don’t ever think, even for a second, that you know her – because you don’t, & sometimes neither do I. She’s the only one who knows her story, her side of it. And one thing I’m sure of, this girl – this is going to be my ‘Happily Ever After’. 😊

Window Seat – The Experience.

I personally am obsessed with having a window seat when I am travelling, be it in a bus or a train or a car. If there are no pestering grown ups around who would make me give it up out of “respect” and to showcase my “obedience” *rolls eyes*, I can handle the pestering little brats and shoo them away easily. There is just something about staring out of your window into nothingness that ups the ‘experience’ factor of the otherwise mundane and inevitable journey intended to just move you from place to place.

I am not saying that journeys aren’t fun otherwise! Of course journeys can be super fun with people you love, people you want to spend time with. But, I don’t think you can deny the fact that at least one of those times you wished you could have your space. The pace at which we are busy living it up, sometimes you just need to pause and breathe. There is nothing like the serene calm you experience when you are travelling in the night, cars zooming by, stars in the dark sky like a canopy – sheltering you from everything beyond.

I am specific about the night journeys because that is when you are most likely to be free from chit-chatting people, noisy vendors trying to sell you cheap food, loud big-bellied men trying to run jobs from miles away, old people not realizing that  just because they are deaf, it doesn’t mean that the entire world is too and all the screaming spoilt kids. And when you do chance upon these rare time-frames, it’s almost like the world decides to take the break with you. Everything slows down to your pace, or maybe it’s the other way around, you slow down to match the world. Who knows.

Music feels more amplified, you relate to every song on your playlist even if it has no relevance to your life whatsoever! Random songs bring back memories, bring back people. Some make you smile, some make you giggle, some make you quiet and some bring tears. Acting out the song with just your face, lip-syncing like it’s your own comes naturally and doesn’t feel weird or fake at all. Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran seem like your closest friends now and you totally imagine singing along with them in the farm, sitting on a checkered red and white picnic towel, smiling because you know they understand, even if no one else does.

The most common thought on such journeys – The One. You either think about the one who is already in your life, the one who has left or the one who you’re waiting for. And sometimes, the one might be ones! I am not really sure if I should call that fortunate or unfortunate. A whole lot of reminiscing and wishful-thinking happens. It gives you an emotional high, everything is magnified. I have made decisions on such highs, some good and some that i have regretted eventually.

I don’t really know if it’s the silence or just seeing things passing you by or just noticing how far far away everything in the sky is, but it gets you thinking – thinking about all the things that you’ve done, wishing you could undo a few, wishing you could do a few better and about all the things you wish to do in the future. Everything seems to make sense, your mind goes into overdrive. The wind rushing through your hair manages to muddle up your thoughts somehow, you jump between ideas like they are mere instances and before you know it you don’t even remember where you started. And just one of those times, you get to feel empty. I treasure these, where your mind is just clear and there is absolutely nothing that you want to think about.

If you give it enough time, it’s almost like for those few hours you are separated from reality – in an alternate universe where you feel understood. It’s just an illusion, but it’s a bloody satisfying one at that. You tend to get all philosophically dizzy and start analyzing life and all of it’s exploits, usually more dramatized versions of the same. It all depends on the amount of time that you spend on the road and what the road looks like.

If there is one thing that can one-up this experience, it’s a rainy journey. Not like a heavy noisy downpour, but the kind of rain that makes you all fuzzy from the inside and leaves you feeling as comfortable as snuggling into mum on a cold night, back in your own bed, under your own roof – in a place called ‘Home’. And if you understand what I mean, you know i am not exaggerating. But that is a story for a different time because it deserves an article of its own. So, for now, close your eyes and lean back and imagine what it would feel like – specially if the destination has something or someone very close to your heart. Or better yet, make it happen! Go take a break! Smiling already? I am. 🙂

That is why I call travelling an ‘Experience’. It is so much more than just movement, we have only talked about one part of it yet, and this part doesn’t even have anything to do with the destination or any other person but you. There is so much more and hence, I’ll keep on writing!