Tuesday, December 28, 2010

“One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. Which road do I take? she asked. Where do you want to go? was his response. I don't know, Alice answered. Then, said the cat, it doesn't matter.”

Lewis Caroll
(Alice in Wonderland )

Sunday, December 26, 2010


I feel badly, for the person that you've become. The friend I had in you has died, his loss I have mourned. You make it easier for me to move on, to live my life without it being marred by your presence. I dont feel your absence, like I did yesterday.

At first I wondered, how you will survive, friendless and alone? But I realise,

You aren't worth it. At all.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

The Last song of dusk

Life deals u hands, tough ones sometimes. But Life has plans for evryone, wether we like it or not, we must follow life's blueprints, its masterplans.

when you go from school to college and then from the comfort of college to what they call the real world, you gain a maturity. . .a maturity that teaches you that every ever after may not be, that most rainbows fade. . . but no amount of maturity or strength is enoguh when you turn around to face an situation wherein you cannot call a friend a friend anymore.

How you ask, how is he blind enough to not see me for who I am, to hold a grudge that'll last a lifetime. Where is his love? Where did all this hatred come from?

There are times when we cut people's calls, erase them from our phone books, block them frm our facebook pages, cut up photographs, tear up letters ....all because we are aware of the pain every minute and attempt to subdue it in a moment to childish rage.

And then there are times, when you are so shocked, so very taken aback at the way things turned out, at how someone whose hand you held in times of despair (his and urs), took less than a minute to end what you built in what seemed like a lifetime, your soul becomes numb. . you dont cut him out of ur life publicly, coz it doesnt matter, the cord has already been cut, the ties severed.

Anything else is a formality.

I have written about him here a million times, my life wasn't my life without a mention of him, and now just because he feels rage, without as much as a thought to me, he has walked out. He, who needed my opinion in everything, from picking a shirt to getting a gift... accused me of giving wry judgement , watching from the sidelines.

I remember this one time, he cried, he was alone, there was nothing to talk about, I sang on the phone for an hour, all our favourite songs. . . . the tunes filling the unbearable silence that was in that moment. . . will anyone ever call him the name i called him? Who will walk with him? Who will insist he shave or get a haircut? Who will plead for him to cut down on smoking? Who will know him?

How I assume will he never think about me when he hears the songs?

But then, I realise he won't think of me, he didn't think to even ask me. He does not even owe me a moment. Only his anger.

And now, I shall move on.

Not willing to fight, or call names, or demand/offer a justification. . . because i realise, if i think of him now, I shall not recall how he took buses to meet me, was a part of my soul, understood that sometimes i Needed momos, hated people i hated, loved priya, how i unconditionally, unprotentiously loved him. . . . . . but I shall only be able to recall this moment,
where I feel broken and kicked. . .Where he chose to desert me.

And I am done, and in time I shall learn for it not to hurt, to stifle the urge to call and wish happy birthday or to ask if you had dinner.

We sang our last song. It was the last song of dusk.

P.S.Incidentally, unaware of fate's plans, a month ago i told him, if he'd ever forgot to call on my bday, I'd hate him and never talk to him..... well problem solved, "now u neednt call, now u neednt remember"

Friday, December 3, 2010

I head home in a week, I hear it is 10 Degrees there. . delhi's winter, the morning fog enveloping you, trees lining the street,the chilly wind, hot milk sold in earthen 'kullads', sugary jalebis, fiery momos, paranthas and the ability to block out nani's voice and pull ur blankets a little closer. . . . ah Delhi. As someone pointed out once, "The world is beautiful, but Delhi, Delhi is Home".