Breakdown

What is love? "[I] Just want someone to reverse the order of words you just uttered." I'm inadequate and I am going to let the madman in me take control. "*waltz*" They, say it is defined as "Two parts hydrogen plus one part oxygen". Definite and yet infinite. I find myself combust into these little speckles of dust — finer, defined, homeless — quite possibly created by a storm itself. "We are neighbours!" Wait, it is called implosion? "Ask." Is it when you put yourself first or when you put his/her needs before yours? Can you love yourself more than your partner? "Shaadi ke baad aa jana. Ab mat aa." It's crazy how we seem like those vases who pretend to be fine because, well, it's in our nature. "Talk to the walls, J. It's the same." Formed out of clay, it's not like we have much of an option. "I will, meri jaan. I will." Is it when you get a good sleep at night? "I don't use pillows nor wear a watch." Is it when you are all alone and yet feel closest to this person who is miles away? "#DumbQuestions." What is the textbook definition of love? If you are still wondering, the answer is no. Google says it is "a strong feeling of affection". Strong feeling of affection? Pfft! You and I both know (that) it is more than affection. "I'm tired of sitting on my hands." It is raging, seething, calming, tingling, deluding and smouldering. "What?" Lady Luna(cy) gets into me and makes me speak in a language I don't understand. "Violin is out of my league. My shoulder can't handle it." I'm waiting for you to express shock at the words I don't utter. "That'd be a temporary side-effect." they say love doesn't lie but you are too busy living a lie; and love doesn't judge. I think love flies out of thin air, out of books, pieces of amateur poetry to convey the message. Lady Luna has chosen me to be one among her messengers."Are you in love with me? Try to be honest. It won't hurt. Promise." Love won't leave you with a scar, a hickey, maybe. What is love, again? "Hahahaha.... J, how does it feel banging your head against the wall?"

Update: This is not love.

Also, please do not take any of this seriously.

Fate

"Who won?"
"Joker."

Photo: Here

Miracle

"I am waiting for a miracle. He stays across the ocean. A thousand miles away. Distance isn't the problem. I have no will to go on like this," she says, trying her best to keep a steady tone. Being fragile, she fails to convince me anyway. Her voice seemed like she could do with a glass of water. "I want to drown myself in a pool of fire and ruin my existence," on the brink of tears. I wanted to ask her to calm down, but nothing good has ever come up with my opening my mouth to talk. Reluctantly, I shut up and stare at her as if counselling her with my silence. Soon, she flinches, and glistens. This is where I thought she was doing to cry. "Silence was never a good countenance, NEVER!" I scream to myself, albeit silently. I witnessed her face drawing up a smile. (It is now that I realised that your mouth too is a window to the soul if you are willing to listen.) With her eyes transfixed above, I decided to see what she saw. The clouds loomed over our heads. She knew the rain gods are going to answer her prayers today. Maybe, I thought. Luckily, she wasn't me. Luckily for her, she waited for a miracle.

Picture taken from Katha Cues

Joke

I may be 24 but I feel nothing more than a 14 year old. As a girlwho's in her 20's, I feel cheated. Or at some point in time, I expect God to tell me that I was being punk'd. Turns out this is reality and I've turned into a joke.

You see, the illusions in my head made me believe life in the 20s would be 'glamorous', if I could use that term. Dinner with friends after work, dancing, movie marathons, all this and more were to be a major part of my 20s. (It's funny how dates never were a part of this deal.) Circa 2014, friends, I have are not more than my fingers. Dancing? You mad bro. Two left feet and left hands, that's me now. Love? I figured there's no convention where I'd meet my man and he'd realise in that very moment that we were soulmates. Turns out I was wrong.

I think I have a theory about life turning out to be this disappointing. I've realized that none of us have changed. Maybe 20 percent here and there. But that's about it. I believe we still are kids who still dream about a better future. Dreaming, just dreaming. Never, hardly working towards it. Though, we still carry stars in our eyes. The light may have got dull, dim, but that's what's taking us forward. Or dreams.

Perhaps why I don't want to face reality ever again.

Raspberries and Rainbows

Some days you delude yourself. Some days, you'd fight tooth and nail, and strike hard to seek it. Black, white and grey; after dedicating much more than colours; and after living under a cloud, you choose to finally give in.

You discover it in the lyrics your sentiments decide to play. You look it in the touch of your mother’s hand loving reassuring your nerves. You hear it in the alternate rhythm of the black and white keys. You seek it in the eyes of the child. You find it in the unspoken words of your lover. You unearth it in the cryptic clues of a poem. You stumble upon it between the lines. You string it together when you try connecting the dots. You search for it when you decide to face the mirror to face yourself. You will discover it in the words of a friend who never exactly owed it to you anyway. To contemplate, retrospect and elaborate upon those thoughts.

The truth lashes out in its form like the hard rain. But you rather stray away into the wild today. You rather cleanse yourself in the moonlight tonight. The truth isn't what you were searching for tonight. You crave for solace. The humble solace. Probably.

The truth seeks you in its glory. But you were never the brave heart who was out to seek the truth.

Probably the truth is the price you have to pay.

How to be lonely?

Become an introvert and tell yourself there is nothing you can do to change this. Maintain a steely countenance. Tell yourself you’re an introvert. Use it as a covert to hide your inability to initiate a conversation or build relationships.

Fall for the one who was never your type. Try to make things work. Quit making it work. Look around. End your time with him. Live on borrowed time. End your relationship.

Read between the lines. Try to encrypt every word, statement that has been showered, shared on/to you.

Get touchy and sentimental when people push you for a reaction.  Pull away, cry inconsolably, weep like a baby. Do what you must, so that people expect you to display your sentiments on a screen-projecter.

Fall for an addiction; get rid of it by becoming a prey to addiction. Get your friends to wean you off your dependence. But it won’t go away, there’s too much of you damaged for words to do any good, heal you is a distant ambition.

Become a cynic. Lead on to believe that everyone talks to you to fulfill their ulterior motive. Lead on to believe this is your superpower. Believe compliments are meant to mock you at a random moment and they can probably see through your flagellating self-esteem. Continue being bitter about your last relationship.

Believe when someone says they’d be there for you. Believe when they say they don’t believe in forever. Share details of our life to this person, since bonding, always strengthened relationships. And leave your worst to fate.

Get into a relationship. Delude yourself about the relationship. Find reasons to nitpick each other when the time is wrong. Avoid confrontations when asked about the same.

Find yourself too indolent to talk every time you find yourself at the possibility of starting a friendship. Ignore the person who seems to find you interesting. Shut all forms of contact. Smile too much to let them know they’re indulging in a series of fleeting monologues. Use monosyllables. Use your headphones.

Get someone to be dependent on you. Use your power to use him/her according to your whims and fancies.

Avoid phone calls. Excuse yourself from night outs. Shun the spotlight when it is on you. Keep away from affections of any kind. Because the only way to conquer the world was to be a detached prick who’d spend the nights watching fluffy romantic movies.

Be yourself.

Befriend fellow introverts & believe that introversion is the new mysterious, is the new way to express yourself.

Him

His calm demeanor assures you striking a conversation with him is probably worth it. The faint scar on his eyebrow bears witness to the fact that he was rambunctious as a kid; he's had his age of outburst and impulses.

He isn’t the guy who sits across the bar and finds ways to impress you. He is the one makes himself comfortable on a sofa and sinks in a book. He isn't trying to be charming; and that's what sets him apart.

His eyes appear cold and steely at first, oblivious to the crowd around him. His mundane glasses schemingly shield the warmth in his eyes. But you know him well, and you'd realize the look is just a facade, an appearance to keep people at bay. You'd find a string of red-veined strings tied across his wrist, reminding you this is his devised method to keep in touch with traditions and, for emotional reasons. His banalities seem so trivial, but a memory to cherish when he makes you a part of it. His laugh, booming with such joy, you'd laugh with him; at him.

His cropped hair reminds you of the archetypical male precedence — he's too lazy to visit the barber frequently. But you're not complaining; not as yet.

His dimple across his right cheek that breezily appears through conversations is your reward that he appreciates your company. His conversations remind you that we haven't lost the good guys to the Waser River as yet.

The party has ended. The bar is shutting shop. It's time to go. The niceties are exchanged. You should probably leave. But not before you find a way to get back in touch with him.

After all, you want him to be more than a fading memory.