Love - A Second Time (Part 2)

 Falling in love with you wasn't a choice. 

When I first met you, you were probably the first person of the opposite gender with whom I could associate, on a deeper level. Years went by, and I met so many men - relationships, dates, friends... Yet I couldn't find another man who is as pure as you. 

You often tell me that you are an ordinary man, with ordinary life and dreams. May be you are, but I have never come across a human being who is so exceptional, kind, genuine, loving and loveable. 

I fell for you, but life had other plans. You chose someone else, and my heart broke into a million pieces. But, it helped me move on, (or so I thought) than clinging on to something that was never mine. 

And then men hopping happened, from one to another, but the worst part of it all is, I was looking for you, in all those men.... the benchmark is so high... no one could really be you. It never occurred to me that you are and will always be my only choice. Until this night happened. 

The moment your lips touched mine... Your body intertwined with mine... That moment... was surreal. 

It reminded me of "Love in the Time of Cholera". I am Florentino Ariza, who waited over 50 years to embrace the love of his life, Fermina. Maybe, we will have such a beautiful ending, maybe not... either way, I am happy to experience this moment, lying in your arms, listening to your heartbeat... making me feel ecstatic. 

This moment wasn't a choice either, but it occurred, to heal my mind and body. 

Yes, I am healed, I can now finally move on, realising that I will never love another man as much as I loved you. And also that, I will love you, till death and beyond. 

This realisation took years, but I think that's my closure. I will finally stop looking for you in other men because now I know no one can be you...

I will move on, cherishing the moments we shared, knowing that this isn't love a second time, but the love that I always chose to ignore. 

Yes, I will finally move on, always remembering that no one can replace you in my life. 

Love - A Second Time (Part 1)

 Dear D,

I love you. 

Of course, you know. You have always known that I could never get over you. 

A love that lasted over 15 years, even after knowing that the love is never reciprocated. 

But love is love. It has no beginning or end. It happens organically; before we know it, we are in love.

I vividly remember the day we first met. A conversation that went for how many hours, I can't recollect. An instant connection that I thought would probably last for a lifetime. It did, I won't deny, but maybe not the way I always wanted it to be. 

Your gorgeously luminous smile stole my heart the moment it flashed across my face. That was it. That smile was what I wanted to wake up to, every damn day. Charm oozed out of your personality that I couldn't resist it coming over to me. I wonder why I didn't lean toward you to kiss you softly, gently and passionately. Maybe because I was too afraid that you wouldn't reciprocate, breaking my heart into a million shards. 

And I was right. You never reciprocated. You called it friendship when I tried labelling it love. You never pushed me away, and that was more painful than the other way around.

I am a seeker, I seek love from every nook and corner. You were the nook I landed upon and never wanted to leave. 

But you chose someone else. I was happy for you, and a tad bit jealous of your partner. They got everything I wanted - your love, care, affection, intimacy and more. 

And then I thought I have moved on. Many faces, many kinds of love came my way. I took it all, enjoyed them all, and left them behind because no love was as precious as my love for you. 

But, I honestly thought I am over you. Until you flashed that goddamn smile of yours, all over again, at me, 15 years later, sweeping me off the floor, a second time. 

Love is unkind, mischievous and truly hurtful. Otherwise, why would I have fallen for someone who's unattainable? 

Unrequited love is the worst. It sweeps you over, only to break you into pieces that can never be fixed. And I became a victim of that unforbidden love. 

(to be continued)

Of All Things Ordinary

 As she grew older, the one thing she was sure of was that she would never involve with a married man. She found it a vice and a risky business. Being someone who hardly took risks, this was the last thing she wanted to do. Until she met him.

He wasn't one of those handsome, hunky men you see on magazine covers. He was just another ordinary guy, with a little paunch, unmuscular biceps, salt n pepper hair and beard. No bass voice to boast of, no sexiness to mention. Short, plump and all things ordinary. What drew her toward him was his charm, that gorgeous smile, a little mole right above his lips and his charisma. 

He was everything she wanted in a man. The way he spoke, about anything under the sun, always made sense to her, irrespective of their reality. She knew he was married and loved his wife and kids dearly, but it was too hard to resist. 

It wasn't lust, nor was it love. It was something unexplainable, that remained unspoken. All she knew was she wanted him around, for the rest of her life. Never did she expect him to reciprocate any of her feelings. 

Every time he appreciated her for even the smallest thing she did, she grew an inch taller. She grew each day, leaps and bounds and finally could touch the sky with her tiny fingers. She grew even taller and surpassed the view of her world. 

She could no longer see him, touch him or feel him. He moved on, drifted away and slowly stopped thinking of her. She lurked on the surface of the skies, leaving behind her world and everything she could experience. She got stuck in the realms of nothingness and lost everything dear. 

"I shouldn't have fallen for a married man", she thought way too often, but nothing could bring her back to her real self. And finally one day, she got lost in the pinnacle of the skies, never to return. She was over, her life was over. All because she embraced a vice she never thought she would. 

Falling in love all over again

Not many people know this about me, but my tolerance level and attention span is quite low. This is one of the most important reasons why I decided not to procreate. Another, of course, would be that, I am not very fond of children, especially the grown ones. 

In 2018, when I decided to move back to my parental home, the only thing that mattered to me was to improve my relationship with them. It was not always bad, but wasn't great either. I just wanted to spend a lot of my time with them and make memories, good memories. Yes, that was the plan. And I was sure it was all going to go smooth. But little did I know that there was another human being waiting for me, who would steal my heart and become the most important part of my life. 

I didn't know that my mother was into babysitting. Thankfully, this little one had his diapers and everything set all the time he comes home, so I was less worried about the poop and the pee that had to follow. Apparently, my mom started babysitting him right from his 30th day of existence as his mother had no one to help her around. So, his visit, 3-4 times a day became a routine and my parents were having a ball of a time. 

When I first met him, he was 8 months old. A plump, cute, squishy little human. The only thing he did was crawl and smile wide at you. Initially, it was just a few minutes of playing with him but before I knew it, I became the babysitter. Oh, I forgot to tell you, he is my neighbour and his name is Anandhan. 

So, my routine started with him waking me up, laying by my side until I really woke up, playing with him for a good 30 minutes, and this repeated through lunch and dinner. He loved lying on my shoulders and I would tap him to sleep, or he would just lie on my chest until both of us drifted into a good slumber. 

Years went by, and he started walking, playing, talking along with biting and beating you around. With my low tolerance, this should have been the last straw but I somehow loved getting beaten up by him. Oh this sounds like a toxic relationship lol. 

I didn't know I was falling in love with this Lil munchkin. It's not because he is sweet or cute, but majorly because his presence made me happy. I started looking forward to his visits and everytime he was out of town, I just couldn't stop missing him. Never did I know that I would fall in love with a little human, that too someone who isn't my blood. We aren't blood, that doesn't mean we have nothing in common. There are so many things, of which one major similarity would be our predominant love language - touch. Every time I lose hold of him, he asks me to hold him again, and that's the most beautiful feeling ever. 

Considering my aversion towards little boys and children in general this love came in as a surprise. And another surprise was that I started getting along with children of all ages, they all like me regardless of my feelings for them and I had become a very tolerant person. 

He is only 5 years old, and the worst of my nightmares has begun. He is slowly drifting away, it's too much for me to take, but I think this love I have for him is unconditional, I just stick to the memories and revisit them often. The 

most surprising part for me is that I am still not tired of his visits, in fact I look forward to see him each day, and my love is only growing day by day. 

Someday, he wouldn't even recognise me, but I think that's ok. I have the memories and those are really precious. Love after all is a painful game, and when it becomes one-sided it's truly painful. But I can take it all for him, for that one look and smile, which flatters me. However, none of this has made me change my plan to not to procreate. I would be a terrible mother, but now I know I am a terrific aunt!

How I Braved an 'Impurity' System

I was 12 when I got my first periods. I vividly remember the date as it was as fancy as it could get - 09/09/'99! I was aware of something called 'chums' occurring after a certain age, but I wasn't certain what it actually was. All that I could associate with it is the absence of my fellow classmates for a week or so, and the assumptions among my friend circle about a certain 'attaining maturity'. 

My naive and shy mother found it embarrassing to talk about the monthly occurrence of blood in your panties and when I found something dark and ugly while passing urine on the said day, I thought it was some malignancy and I was going to die. When I informed my mother, what she did was inform my aunts and relatives and make me sit on a corner. My brave aunt came to me and told me that now I have attained 'maturity' and I am girl now. Well, I always thought I was a girl and maturity is something I haven't attained even today, so I couldn't relate to what she was saying.

I was told I should sit in my room and should not walk around and they will provide me with food and everything I needed on time, but for someone who was hyperactive, that was a bit too much. But this feeling of dejection didn't last for long as women in the family started coming in and flooded me with gifts ranging from clothes to gold. I was elated. GOLD! FOR SEEING BLOOD IN YOUR PEE! 

Anyway, this went on for a week and then finally I was free to move around. A lot of things about me changed - I was asked to behave like a girl time and again when I went on doing mischievous activities that I always did. The worst part was, I wasn't aware of what was in store. I didn't know this seeing blood would be a monthly ritual and it is going to affect my freedom! 

My mother, sister and I used to sleep in the same room with two beds - one queen size and a single bed attached. Every month when I see blood, my mom made sure that I do not step out of the bathroom without bathing or washing my clothes. She would separate the single bed and I will have to sleep on it for the next 4 days. Every morning, I need to get and take shower and wash clothes before stepping out of the room. And the 4th day, I had to wash the bedsheet too. This was not really a herculean task, but for someone who had either a maid or a washing machine to wash clothes, this seemed alien. Another thing to note is that, on these 4 days, I was not supposed to touch clothes, open any cupboard, go near the pooja room or lay on my bed unless it is night. If I accidentally touched the bed, I had to take a shower again! 

For years this was the routine, and the ritual started getting on my nerves. I wanted to know what would happen if I touch something, no one had a specific answer - "you can't touch it, it will lose its purity" that's the answer I got and I was never convinced. If I had to get out of the bathroom, someone had to help me with getting clothes out of my cupboard and if no one was around, I was screwed! 

Years went by, the teenager in me grew up to be a rebel and I started reacting, instead of questioning. I would open my cupboard, or touch things if I had to, because convenience! My mom just could not take this and we started fighting over things. But eventually, she gave in. Today, there is no 'untouchability' related to menstruation in the house, except I won't enter the pooja room only because I don't want to offend my parents. 

This experience is not something traumatic, but the taboo associated with menstruation still exist in our society and a lot of women still find it difficult to live by. I remember praying for not getting menstruation (I think God listens to atheists and agnostics - I got PCOD) because as a child, the taboo was more painful than the cramps and mood swings. I really hope, slowly but steadily women in the household would understand that menstruation is never a taboo and it has nothing to do with impurity. There is nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be alienated about. Menstruation is nothing more than a biological process. 

Worldly Pleasure

"......Jaan jaati hai jab

Udke jaate ho tum...

Aaj Jaane ki Zid naa Karo...."

A slight smile appeared on her face when the stereo played the song in Farida Khanum's voice. She tilted her head to the left and looked at him; he was sleeping quite peacefully, his face resting between her bosoms and arms cuddling her tight. She brushed her fingers through his thin, long, black hair with gray lines in between and drifted into thoughts. The smile slowly disappeared as memories flashed through her mind like a film running in slow motion. 

The days of desperation, longing and abandonment; the nights of despair, sobs, helplessness and insomnia. Everything seemed like yesterday. She never thought love can make someone so blinded and desperate - unrequited love being the most brutal of them all. She would have preferred hundred stabs over his "but, you are my best friend" proclamation. 

But, those days are long gone. Life went on, so did she. It didn't take her much to realise that you can fall in love with whoever you want, but can't make someone reciprocate it. It's not something you could grab; it happens, in it's due course. It happened to her, never to him - what more did she need to move on?

"Waqt ki qaid mein zindagi hai magar...
Chand ghariyaan yehi hain jo aazaad hain..."

The track brought her back to her senses. He was still sleeping, like a baby in the arms of his mother, unconcerned and unaware of the reality. 

Today, they made love. Her fingers ran through his soft skin, he felt the sweetness of her supple lips. The heat of the moment was too tempting to even resist. If this has occured a few years ago - if at all he had felt vulnerable, opened up to her and things heated up, years ago - she would have probably been on cloud nine; if at all.... 

"The Universe does conspire in helping you achieve something you really want, but may not be when you want it, or they way you want it. This man, laying close to me was all I wanted once, I longed to make love to him, but today, it doesn't matter. It's just another man, just another fling." She was amused how life works and with that final thought slowly drifted to slumber. 

"Aaj Jaane ki Zid naa Karo...."

Farida Khanum's passionate singing still filled the room. 

The Night is Eerily Silent

The night is eerily silent and I am wide awake, as my sleep pattern has gone for a toss. I sleep around 4AM, wake up at 11AM, sleep again post lunch and do pretty much nothing the entire day.

The world has been locked down, but has my life changed? Not exactly. I have always been a loner, or so I have become over the years, and being a freelancer has only made me more comfortable with my work and circumstances - I work from the comfort of my room to be precise and what more do you want? But now, for the past few days, I have been disturbed. Even though people are struggling to get themselves comfortable with the sitting-at-home routine, someone who has already warmed up to that is disturbed!

Is it the thought that when everyone is chilling, I still have to work? Or is it because I am a hypochondriac and I am constantly considering the possibilities of me being infected and spreading it to the world? Or the very thought that my home is now filled up with people even during the day that's making me restless? Possibly, all of that.

Everyday, I dream of becoming a better person - sleep and wake up early, drag my ass to the work station and finish off pending works (I am so grateful to my clients who are super patient even when I keep delaying work submission or make unwarranted excuses), eat healthy, work out a bit and get myself back to a fitness routine. But all of that remains as a dream, even today, even tomorrow.

Has depression hijacked my system all over again and do I have to go through all the pain AGAIN? Oh no! May be I am thinking too much, and this is just natural. May be I should meditate before I sleep.

Life isn't fair, you know! This life just isn't. You might be wondering why I am blabbering - FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS - when the entire world is literally crashing, praying and hoping to be alive the next day. But, see, to each their own. For me this is life. Each night is a struggle. To get that peaceful sleep, and days, where I push myself out of the bed and try to stay sane. For some of us, that's how life has turned out to be. And we don't fear death, but possibly death is damn afraid of us, even to touch us....


It's 0230AM in the morning. The night is still eerily silent. But my mind isn't. I can't sleep because it's noisy; I am deafened by its screams. May be I will close my eyes tight force myself to sleep, just like every other day, and wish not to wake up, to the struggle all over again - just like every other day.

And Last Night She Cried

And last night, she cried. For no apparent reason. But she cried anyway. Thinking about all the atrocities and even the smallest of things that had happened to her. The dark phases that she braved. The ill treatments she tolerated. The rejections she took. The heartbreaks she encountered. The fears that wrapped her future. The paranoia that bound her. The depression that ate her life. The unpredictability life threw at her. The unsettlement that questioned her existence. The loneliness that embarked her course. The sorrows she kept under the wrap. The nothingness that slowly defined her purpose. Different songs, for each memory and retrospection, to intensify the way she felt.

And she cried. Silently, yet her heart out. After ages. Without letting anyone know how she felt, all the while even when she faced them all courageously, without fail.  She cried until dawn, and wrapped it all up before the world woke up.

And last night she cried, first time in ages, without inhibitions or apprehensions. And pledged to do this often, to soothe her numb heart and crumbled soul.

This is liberating, she thought as she could sense some relief covering her all up.

last night she cried, so that she could wake up the next day with a smile on her face and relief in her system. 

Life as an 'Introvert'

Well, one thing I am sure of is that most of the people who have interacted with me wouldn't agree in various levels to my statement that I am an introvert. But, trust me when I say this, I AM A HUGE ASS INTROVERT who shows the wild side of me only to those who I am comfortable with and that can be subjective too.

Now, defining the term 'comfortable'. You may not be comfortable with the same person all the time. Being someone who has umpteen thoughts going on inside your head all the time, there will be times you think of being judged silently, misunderstood or getting bullied and that thought itself makes you uncomfortable. You may not be in the best of comfort if the person you are most comfortable with is accompanied by another, who could indeed be someone you are comfortable with in a different situation. The level of comfort varies from person to person, from situation to situation and no two people could keep you comfortable and help you be yourself, with exceptions, of course. And that makes you feel out of place and zone out very easily.

Another issue is with the 'wild' you. The coolest version of yourself may not come in public often, but once it does, people are sure in for some great entertainment. But then again, there is always this thought of being overly enthusiastic and attracting jerks (oh yeah, that always happens). Sometimes, just to survive in this world, you pretend to be a joyful enthusiastic person, and every time you do that, you regret. You feel like you are living a lie and prefer not wanting to impress anybody. You would want to go back to your shell but cannot coz you have given a wrong idea about yourself and its too late.

The worst is when you need to be in a group and pretend to enjoy what's been happening. Because sometimes your excuses to avoid parties and get-togethers may not work and you have to participate and that's like a judgement day to you. Surrounded by enthusiastic people who can just attract anybody by their charm, you feel that you are invisible. No matter how much ever you try to hold on conversations, you cannot because you aren't interesting enough and that thought kills you inside. This may not be true but that's what you would believe. After every parties, you wish someone noticed you as well, and had some soulful conversation with you, but when you realise that's not the crowd you are in, all you want to do is run away and hide.

Another problem is that you cannot communicate in the right way. Either you end up being misunderstood, or offensive, OR would never be taken seriously. You are either blunt or too polite to be understood. These affect your peace of mind but even communicating that would end up wrong.

You would be someone who prefers to stay in your shell because 'people' scare the shit out of you. You think too much before you say something, yet end up saying the wrong stuff. You are offensive, as all that matters to you is your comfort zone. You wouldn't sometimes be even comfortable with your best friend, because you don't even know if that person feels the same way too or is silently plotting to get rid of you.

Meeting new people is a nightmare as you wouldn't know how you are gonna hold a conversation with. You feel obliged to talk, but as long as there isn't something that interests you, all you would do is stare at eternity.

Being an introvert isn't easy. You wish to be something else throughout your life, but you know you can't be as interesting as others are and you may not be anyone's favorite. You accept it and move on. But still, the struggle of interacting with people remains and that in itself is a task.

Her struggles

Each day is a struggle to her. She wakes up to that unexplainable pain that succumbs her entire body, making her unable to move until she pushes herself to. The arms that sometimes stay unmovable, the neck that gives her the pain as though someone just tried to chop it off, the spine that can't even once give her solace. There wouldn't have been a day where she wishes to wake up and live like a normal human being with absolutely no pain.

Her day moves on with all the wrong people one could ever find. People who wouldn't know how to love, or value love or even value her, cringing her emotionally, mentally and psychologically. She still hopes to find goodness in people, meet the right ones some day.

She wishes to be heard, just like how she lends her ears to people who want to be heard. She keeps wishing that someone heard her without judging, without giving her their share of wisdom. She always chose strugglers, people who have seen it all, hoping that may be they would understand. But never has she been successful in letting them understand.

Rather, she gets to hear herself tagged as laidback, lazy, excuse maker, drama queen, idiot, unbelievable, attention seeker, big mouth, chatterbox...

She still moves on, though there is absolutely no reason to live. She lives, pushing herself each day to move forward, because she wants to take her last breath with the satisfaction of achieving something at least once in her life.

I wonder why!