One bad day after another.

Realizing that everything I'd painstakingly put together to keep myself happy, is slowly falling apart, slipping away. I can't fix it. I've tried, failed miserably, and wept.

I wish I could pack a few random objects into a bag and travel around the world. Go to a little-known corner of it, spend a month there in the company of complete strangers, and maybe, just maybe, it'll all come together.

Emotions.

So many emotions, they will overwhelm me soon. I could've gotten rid of them as soon as they appeared. I could've tried. No, I let them be, I let them grow, I encouraged them. I let myself believe in them. I threw logic and reason out of the window. I let my emotions paint me into what can only be called a mess.

And one fine day it all hits me, and my pen traces the words this is stupid, in barely legible writing, yet again.

The emotions remain. They will continue to torment me.

You remind me time and again why I love losing myself in a good book, quietly letting it take me where it wills.

A-year-and-six-months

"You know how people say 'something inside me just died'? Well, that's what happened to me." - S

As she put it so well. We'll miss you.

Last month was a whirlwind of birthdays and emotions and tests and stress and tears, all of which resulted in frayed nerves.

I see the two of them nearly every day and form opinions that no one understands, or agrees with. They simply add to the clutter in my head. I've been putting this and that off for so long, because I can't think these days. Unfortunately, I also care about you enough to make my head explode once in a while. And you have no idea, so this makes me look like a pathetic little mess.

September, treat me well, please.

August

It's been a while. We seem to be wandering in circles, and your circles are just like mine, but we aren't getting anywhere. Meanwhile, life must go on and the usual things demanding my attention must be attended to.

I know I shouldn't hide anything from you but there'd be problems with that, just as there are problems with everything else. And then I wonder why I feel so stressed out.

As much as I don't want to, I could safely ignore you for...a month? Two, maybe?

It takes only a few minutes of being around them and their infectious smiles to forget about everything else, to stop listening to the voices in my head. Oh, how I adore them. I'm glad they exist.

I wish they'd talk to me every minute of every day.

Three weeks of not being able to channelize my mental faculties into something productive. I knew I was given to the occasional daydream or two, but of all the voices in my head, his is the loudest and the most convincing. I've been giving in, every time, listening wordlessly.

A few hundred photographs. I looked at them, one by one, permitting every little detail to find itself a permanent place in my head. Soon, my field of vision was full of vivid colours and distorted shapes. I relived every little memory I could recollect. Photograph after photograph swam in front of my eyes, each one bringing back a flood of memories. Recent memories. I blinked furiously to suppress the tears that were long overdue. I knew that it would never, ever be the same.

***

"How long do you think you'll carry on like this?"

It was one of the several questions she asked me. Her voice was definitely distorted over the phone. But I knew that tone. It was the one I always use when I want to drill sense into her. She was trying to do the same thing to me, because I needed it.

I couldn't answer.

Last Week

The pages of words and numbers and odd symbols in front of me don't always make sense. Nevertheless, they're engaging. I like having something to do. Moreover, it keeps my mental faculties from brooding over things that will probably never be; events that, in all likelihood, will never come to pass.

***

We talk and talk about trust, and many other things, besides. Your trust and my trust and his trust and her trust and how I do not trust people easily. I don't trust any of them, I shoot back. Some part of me wonders why. I'm glad I can trust her. And her. And so many of them. And him, of course.

I've always hated how I seem to have walls around me, walls that are hard to breach, if not impossible to breach altogether. Yesterday, I realized that it probably works to my advantage.

***

I did not get hurt. Or emotionally blackmailed. Or played with. Or any of the horrible things they've been through. I'm glad.

Finally, I know I've made the right choice. I don't care if the things that my over-active imagination envisions never happen. I know I'm safe, and perfectly happy.

Baarish and Life

The first little drizzles of the season have arrived, bringing with them the characteristic grey shadows that cloak our little world. I've always loved wet weather, although my reasons for being so fond of the rain are ever-changing.

Rain in Bombay spelled the end of the unbearably hot and sticky summer months, so everyone welcomed the torrents of water that would fall from the skies every June. The rain would also turn the city's streets into waist-deep streams, and one would have to wade through them, hoping fervently that nothing questionable lurked in their murky depths. As children, we loved it. But as we grew older, it turned into a much-dreaded exercise, and by the end of it, we would be tired and chilled to the bone. There ended the charm of the monsoon rains, as far as Bombay was concerned. Someone who'd lived in the city long enough would appreciate the inexplicable beauty the flooded streets possessed when it rained. I happened to be one of them.

But it's so different here. The rain washes away months of dust and soothes frayed nerves caused by the oppressive summer heat. Both heaven and earth wear a look of such freshness, as if the water has sent new life coursing through their vast expanses. Everything around me is so vibrant, the colours are deep and speak of newfound energy, and the grey shadows cast by the overbearing clouds are a welcome shield from the harsh sun; not harbingers of gloom, as many people would say. The world around me, and every living creatue in it, seems alive, all of a sudden.

And I can almost feel them calling out to me, to join their joyous exultation, to be a part of Life itself. An enormous circle devoid of both beginning and end.

A few things I'd like to yell at myself for.

Get all the facts right before you blame people for things they haven't even done.

Don't read between the lines all the time, for goodness' sake. And when you do, you don't need to get worked up.

Can't you send him to the back of your head for one day? Is it really necessary to give him so much of your attention?

You've always loved yourself for not being judgemental, but when you develop an irrational dislike for someone  and you know it's here to stay, no matter what other people say; aren't you being a hypocrite?

He hasn't done anything wrong. Do you really have to be so mean to him?

Isn't it a little stupid that you care about him so much, but he's blissfully unaware of this?

You're being silly. You've disappointed me.

Bombay

Something is definitely different about this place.

On the surface, it hasn't changed much. The old divisions are still the same. SoBo, the suburbs, New Bombay, everything else. Marine Drive is still Marine Drive. Juhu Beach and Chowpatty are still as crowded as ever.  Every inch of this city has retained its aura of chaos. When has anything about this city ever been pre-planned, when has it ever been static? Bombay has always been about spontaneity, contradictions, surprises, and the unknown. How else would millions of migrants have come to live here, accepted by the locals, and become the beginnings of a culture so unique, so dynamic and ever-changing? True, we migrants (or children, or grandchildren of migrants) still stick to some of our old idiosyncrasies. If, like me, you happen to have South Indian parents, you know you'll end up in Matunga every so often, getting coffee beans ground just the way you like it, so you can savour filter coffee at home, every day. But I digress.

Some things change for the better. But some don't. And what is horribly different about this place is the attitude that its people seem to wear. It's all very good to organize charity events and protest marches for various issues, but they don't seem to lead us anywhere. People are getting murdered and raped and tortured and criminals seem to roam free on the streets, and nobody cares about the madness the city is slipping into. The scary kind of madness, not the chaotic madness the city is so well-accustomed to.

Oh, if you've got money, you can lead the good life, and none of these things matter. Or so we think.

This city has always been so beautiful, and it does not deserve a fate so tragic.

A Realization

I'm told I possess astonishing levels of maturity and an ability to keep a level head in almost all situations. Normally, it takes extremes to make me lose my cool in public. Somehow, none of that works with you. Your mere presence takes away all of it, only to replace it with plenty of hyperventilation and excitement and most of all, silliness.

You've achieved nothing short of a miracle.

This is a point where I've understood that everything doesn't necessarily work out the way I want it to. Acceptance. Acceptance of something I'm not even entirely sure of. There's this voice in my head that keeps telling me I'm being silly, getting all worked up when I don't even know the truth. I'm too afraid to ask, strangely enough. I wonder why. I've never been afraid of asking you anything before.

Back to acceptance. No tears, no tantrums, no rants. But if I ever learn that this is true, I'm afraid I'll hate you for not telling me in the first place. Because I thought telling me was obligatory and came with being friends.

This does not mean I don't feel for you, however.

*sigh*

The past few days seem to have whizzed by rather quickly. Normally, I'd complain, but I'm rather satisfied with how I've handled things. I seem to have figured out how to tackle massive amounts of work and stress without drowning in it. None of this would've been possible without M. You're the one who got me to make a beginning. And then, kept me going even if it meant tolerating my frequent meltdowns. I owe you. :)

My head does feel a lot less cluttered. I'm happier than I've been in quite a while. It doesn't take much to make me happy. Lack of stress and talking to you are definitely on the list. Though the latter hasn't been happening at all lately. *sigh* Oh well.

After All That

I should just accept the fact that I'm terrible at this. 'Nuff said.

I don't like stress. No one does. It does not permit me to function normally.

My desk is so full of utterly random objects that I think it's a miracle I'm able to get any work done at all using it. I'm poring over books and my writing stationery is everywhere and my laptop is adding to the clutter. I suddenly feel like doodling but I can't seem to find any pencils at all, and then I remember that I'm supposed to be directing all my energy towards the mountain of work I have before me; I look up and see the 'Zzzzinnng' written in bright yellow on the wall, a happy reminder of certain memories and the fact that I must focus, and that allows me to get back to work; but my phone's buzzing every few minutes with questions about this and that, and then I realise you're in my head again and I can't concentrate with you buzzing around like static, and I want to talk to you within the confines of my brain but I'm reminded yet again that I need to work. But now my eyes are tired and I decide to give up and go to sleep; but even then you're flitting in and out of my dreams and when I wake up I'm really not sure what you were doing, and you're still buzzing around in my head like static the whole day.

Two words: mind control.

"I need to learn that from you."

I laugh it off.

Part of me knows that this is something I do not possess, I've simply learnt to keep a level head in social situations.

***

It's late, and I know I should go to bed, but the promise of yet another conversation is irresistible, so I force my eyes into remaining open. They've begun to follow a pattern now, proceeding along similar lines every time. Surprisingly, they're never monotonous.

I admire how some people can talk without having to think their sentences over a million times before they actually let the words escape their lips.

***

I've reached that annoying stage where all the tiny, insignificant things remind me of you. And I'm forced to face the reality of what an epic fail this is.

It's nice having you in my head.

Enough said.

Twenty - Eleven

What a year.

Three months of hard work. Hours of poring over books, writing and reading and writing and reading in endless circles, hoping that at the very least, some of it would eventually settle into my already overworked brain.

The feeling of utter relief when I handed in my last exam paper and the realisation that, yes, it was all over.

The confusion and madness that followed, and the surprises that came out of it all.

New beginnings, stepping into unfamiliar territory, surprising myself with the ease with which I seemed to handle it, new people, faces, things, lives.

Meeting some of the most amazing people in my life right now, the ones whom I have come to adore and really trust, all in the painfully short time span of a few months.

Watching how all it took was one person to transform me, and teach me how to let loose.

Dealing with daily mood swings that never seem to cease, and the effects of hyperactive estrogen levels.

Wondering if I'll ever find the courage to tell you about how it really is.

I wonder how twenty-twelve will treat me!




P.S Wishing all you bloggers a very happy new year :)