22 april

i haven’t made this into a habit yet, this writing everyday thing,
this concept of journalling that big writers talk about.
some big writers.
maybe it is important to do so, or maybe not.
i need to learn to give myself time to surf and time to read
and time to do. because otherwise i surf, and don’t do
i read and don’t do. i chill and don’t do… i…
doing is getting a beating because i rather not do and
just read, or surf, or chill… thwack thwack my head
bangs against itself as i wish i was someone with a
stronger will, a fighter spirit. but how can i wish for
something i am not. if i want to be then i must be
no one can make me.
these thoughts sound great on paper, in a poem,
as philosophy lectures, but doing is the problem.
it is easier to talk. so let’s.


What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to never come back?
What do you mean… This is my house. I came to collect my things…
Your house? You lost the right to say that when you slept with her.
Bullshit. I paid for it. Each and every EMI. Every last rupee… It was all me.
And how did you manage that might I ask? Because of me. I took care of the family. You didn’t want me to work. Now do not make it about money! Marriage is a partnership… though, it was never one with you…
Well, a maid would have been cheaper then…
WHAT did you just say? Yeah, and you could have screwed the maid too since anyway you mess around with anything that has breasts!
OK, I shouldn’t have said that… It was just… I was reacting. But enough! You just twist everything. I messed up ONCE, but it keep coming up like I did it a hundred times. I mean… it’ve over, let it be!
No, It isn’t over… 25 years of my life… wasted… on you… why?
You chose to do that. I didn’t stop you from leaving now did I? You go around blaming everything on me, you could do anything you wanted…
Yeah, easy to say now!
I didn’t stop you. Ever. That is not something you can hold against me. You quit when we had our first child, and you didn’t want to go back. I agreed with you, and said our children needed you and that you don’t need to work.
WOW! Time does warp your memory doesn’t it. You said I make enough money, so don’t work, you should take care of the family. And you would throw a fit if the food was not made to your liking. Urgghhhh… why did I tolerate this…
Yeah, why did you? If you hated it that much. You should have left! Long back…
I should have, a long time back… when I was younger… you made the move… and I…
I said sorry…
I don’t know what that means. Sorry seems like such an ineffectual word. Said because it exists. Used, no, overused and abused, because once said, you are absolved of all guilt, and everything. And the seeker takes the higher ground. It’s a cheap trick, a deceiver. The sayer feels relieved, the receiver, almost as if nothing has changed.

But then again, it is a start, a start to a long journey of healing once something has happened. And maybe without the sorry that healing would never ever begin.

I’m sorry too. I… I… don’t know what went wrong with us, something did. And neither of us protected ‘us’ we just tried to protect ‘I’ and… maybe that doesn’t work, or help.

When is the marriage?
Soon. Figuring out the right date.

I’ll take my box and go.


like with love, some people might say, you don’t plan to dream that dream.
or chase it. it saunters in, poised and confident, complete in itself.
teasing you about your current existence. and feeding you with desire.
this dream upsets the rhythm you’d perfected over years of being… just you.
because now you want more.
it latches on, that bloody dream. almost parasitic, feeding off you,
it eats the few highs, and leaves you with the misery of the hopeless chase.
tight in its clutch, blinded by desire, you forget that you invited it.
that you asked it to come and stay. you let it become a part
of your new rhyme. you start to believe it was always there. the beginning…
the hazy merging of the horizon with the sea, far in the distance, so far
that you cannot see… grey meeting grey or grey being grey.
you do not know anymore. the blinkers have been stapled on. you tell yourself,
repeatedly, that you do not work hard enough to even deserve this dream.
you inch closer, the dream scuttles away. the chase is on.
this one sided love affair of your own creation. you forget that these things
can be flung away, that they can be changed, modified, and yes, even dismissed.
you forget what it is to not have that dream. to not be judged by failing it.

you dreamt that dream. you gave it life, you set it free in the space that holds you.

maybe. that dream can change. and you will still be you. and maybe
you will find another dream.