A letter for the love of my life

I wish forgetting you was like cleaning an easy stain on my favourite shirt,

But you don’t stop the affect like a good stain.

You’re more like the dark rectangle on my wall where that photo frame once was:

Impossible to merge with the present.

The dust on the bookshelves reminds me of the beautiful care in you

And so does the empty bed.

You never forget to leave an impression, don’t you?

 

You always had that style

Ruling over my heart in college too

You stained my soul with love.

Once there, painted all over with colour

Marriage, kids, living together.

 

People look at me today like a sad old man subject to life’s miseries

But darling I still have that poetry in me you would love.

I still go to Natural’s for a midnight treat but now I order only one scoop,

I wish you were there to finish another

I promise I wouldn’t have complained like I usually did when you were here.

I wish you could come back

 

Here I am, doing it again,

I told my doctor I wouldn’t wish unreasonable things:

For you to be back and for me to be the same without you.

Sorry.

 

So, getting to the point.

I’m writing in memory of the lovely girl with whom I aged and faced life.

The girl that showed me how wonderful life can get

Even when it just doesn’t seem to get any better

I’m promising her that I’m going to respect that and learn from it

I’m going to fight depression and stop being a cliché

(We never liked the mainstream anyway.)

My days are still as tinted with you

As they were before.

I still love you and forgive me for talking about trying to remove your stain.

Your stain is in the deepest part of what makes me the person I am.

Your stain is a reminder of beauty-

Impossibly pure beauty- that once garnished my life.

Yes, I have become a romantic as you suspected I would

(Remember when I would laugh at cheesy posts like these? Well, life pays back.)

And I thank you for that.

 

Yours forever.

 

(I’m still jealous that you got to know what death is like, before I did

And yes, yes, I will stop flirting with the young lady that stays across the road:

I never meant anything serious,

She still misses your morning chai.)

 

~~~

Inspired by the emotions of the main character in the movie ‘Madaari’, for his lost child.

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Thoughts before a journey

Hey beautiful,

Today, I just want to talk about life, unlike my usual posts here. It’s pretty queer, the situation. My life is going pretty good, and some might even say that it’s amazing but I don’t feel amazing, lately. I think it’s the mixed emotion of feeling nostalgic and a little scared and excited and useless.

Let me give you some backstory here. I am 18 years old, and going to move to my college’s residential campus in 22 days. I have never lived away from home, without my parents for longer than a week so the mere situation freaks me out. I’m really looking forward to the entire independence of it all, but the nervousness right now is like the 2 minutes before a performance.

I have got to know of such amazing people that will be at college so it is really exciting but then again, will I make a good group of friends? Then again, is having a group of friends more important than having many, different friends like I have had till now? I don’t know.

The concept of me living on my own interests me because at home, I’m a messy person and those who suffer from this are really only my family;I don’t mind the mess as long as I clean it soon enough. Will this magically change once I’m in college and my frustrated grandmother doesn’t clean up my bed? I don’t know.
Yesterday, I went to buy some stuff for college and amidst the soap holder and cleaning brush, the shopkeeper asked me if I wanted a rolling pin to make dough, for rotiI felt like I was settling down in a new house or something. “No, OF COURSE not, I don’t need a rolling pin. I’m going to college, not settling down,” I told him, half-scared, half-amused.

Apart from the social factor of living somewhere away from home, the academics in my college excites me. Being the competitive person I am, I’m waiting to see the classroom atmosphere of my college. Yet, I have this lingering debate in my head-what if I’m not good enough for it, or even to compete with it? What if my mental faculties have a dead end somewhere? I rebuttal this with my belief that if really want to do well at something, I will never really give up. Hopefully, this belief stays in those moments of doubt.

I also feel a little useless at this point because I wish I did more with my time. Vacations are “meant” for chilling out but really, what am I doing with these moments of my life when I’m binge-watching Community and eating Chocos till 3 in the morning? I’m doing a few projects but I feel like I’m not doing enough. Maybe the solution is that I need to start journaling again. Yeah I need to do that.

So this is where I am at, standing at the edge of my bed, looking at my unopened empty suitcase, waiting to see if I’m ready to take on the excitement and leave the nervousness for a few days before I leave. Holding one emotion of hope for a good journey sounds like a good idea for me right now.

Yeah, I think I will open my cupboard and start filling the suitcase now.

Until next time,
Charuvi.

The oblivious.

I’m astounded by the oblivious.
How carefree and unapologetically pragmatic, they are-
The old uncle of the bus,
The squealing children,
The office-going folk,
The old women,
The young ones with earphones,
And the ticket collector of them all.

I enter, a stranger.

They stop and look and go on with their day.
The bus is a medium of travelling-
Just another vehicle with smelly armpits and lecherous stares;
Just another vehicle with dirt and a crowd.

Oh how they would long to have facilities of luxury-
For the children and the family, of course.
And then they would live their lives in the ‘big picture’.
But really how fortunate they are to live this life!
I get out of my car to take the bus
And they, the small specs of reality that make up the ‘big picture’,
Get out of the bus to buy a worthless car.

The semicolon;

Post dated: 3rd Feb, 2016

It is often that I see how others see me, and think about the past, going over how I would want my future. And in this frequency of thoughts, I once realised how much we’re all worth.

How much of an individual you are, and I am.
How we have capabilities and
potentialities and
sad-times and
failures.

How we all have hope through it all.

We are all certainly faced by pressure, and we live through it all.

We have regrets, excesses, sufferings and doubt

but at the end, we live through it beautifully

Every
Second.

We thrive in this energy of reality. Of now.
No, really! Not the second that you started reading this post. Not the second you started reading this sentence. Only now.

In the semicolon of life that is in whole not 80 years or even 2, it’s in the moment of life that keeps you doing what you’re doing and adding on to it. And in that, there’s no death, only life. Life with a rainbow of sunshine after rainy days-even if that rainbow shies out after an age old winter.

It’s beautiful. Celebrate your semicolon, every second. ❤

 

The storm I hated.

Date of post: 15th Jan

“You know what,”
I typed furiously.
“There is a drop of water that you may see
and I may see
And I will see it,
Yet you will not.”

Only, I didn’t type. It was a thought, blown by the storm of my conscience, to the front of my mind. It was the agitation of a revolt. Though similar to others I had had, this was new at the moment.

And at the moment I felt like fighting. Fighting in the wild sea with everything but the force behind it’s wilderness. I couldn’t find the force, you see. I loved the sea too intensely to see its reality. And it wrecked me. For my love was failing me every minute.

I always thought that I would want to be one of those the sea loved. Those pristine wholesome fish, living in clear water, removed from human lives. Yet somewhere along the lines I learnt to accept my position as the rusted, isolated ship. The ship that was nothing more than one entangled, broken mess on the side.

Oh and how I admired those pristine, wholesome fish. I saw how they charmed the sea. I wished I was them for a minute. But they did make me feel like I was worthless. They made me feel like I was not admired, all those times when the sea forgot I was there.

Still, hear, hear all of the world- I did feel like one of those that the sea loved-when the sea did recognise the bond between. Only recognise I say, not accept or embrace.

So then who am I to blame for the storm between us? The sea, the fish or I?

Maybe I am to blame the mirror that deceived me: my pristine, wholesome self, which was beautiful in it’s own way- just, in a galaxy where I saw a drop of water in all it’s importance, and the sea plainly saw a vast, undefinable blue stretch.

~~~

I had written this story as a metaphor for a relationship that saw no reciprocity from one end. The narrator expresses her angst for she loves someone who doesn’t love her back and wishes that her love could see the storm that she could see-the torture of his loving behaviour.

Days like this.

Hey beautiful,

I met my best friends today but it felt like something different. It felt like we peeled back another layer between us. We watched an unconventional movie and everyone laughed- like they’d understood what had passed and moved on with the future. How big of a thing that is, I hope they’d measured. We’d grown together in that time-as people in a relationship.

Looking back at our personalities, it’s amazing that we can grow together. There are some things uncomfortable but we’re getting past that. We’re getting past habits and expressions of love and schedules. We’re helping each other out and I’m grateful for that kind of a relationship.

I went with one of them to the beach after and watched the waves crash while talking about dreams. We spoke about what we’re doing and what we want to do. We talked about nature, out of all the pure things to talk about. The day altogether honestly felt like it had slept on a soft cloud gently. It felt beautiful.

Later, I went home and laughingly removed the sand from my shoes. I kept the shoes back on the stand but on another day soon, I’ll find the sand of my memories, preciously remove them from my present and keep myself ready for another beautiful day, embedded in my future.

Thank you for these memories.

Yours,
Charuvi.

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Me, Jahanvi and Sanjukta (from the right) at an event a few days a week ago!

The day in the life of a fish

“Jumping into the unknown”


I see a blue sea of hope
A clear sea, it is.
The weather seems fine
“Although nature could never be trusted
And neither could these humans”
Just like any other day
We are feeding the babies
Taking care of the old
Grabbing another day to live
Unpredictable yet planned.
Mundane yet exciting, goes our life.

Soon there are thunderclouds of anxiety.
“What if the cyclone-monster venges out on me
For the unforgivable sins of another century?
It would be devastating
Like it had been, a few years ago.
I can’t live that torture again;
Killing another few years,
It would destroy me!”
Cry my fear-stricken tears.

But then nature proves me wrong
“Nature is miraculous” I say,
When I see my family restored
One beam of sunlight at a time.
Our world is illuminated
And I have a moment of gratitude.
“I know this is a big, bad world kiddos,
But if you don’t face challenges,
You’ll never learn”, I hand them their tiffins.
My little round fish look at me
Trying to fit my riddle into their lives.
I round them up and leave for work,
The trick of survival was learnt that day.

Another sea of hope,
Another thundercloud of anxiety,
Another sun of positivity.

“That’s how we fish do it”, she winked at me.

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