Sunday, 28 December 2014

The 'Attachments'

You can't save me. Nobody can. I know you are concerned. I can sense that concern in your actions and words; sometimes words aren’t even necessary. I can sense that in the way you look at me when I say something really casual. But that 'casual' has deeper meanings which mostly people around don’t understand. But fortunately or otherwise, you do.

I also know you are attached. So am I. But that's the word I dread these days. 'Attachment'. You know why? Coz it weakens me. This 'attachment'. For people, this sense of attachment becomes their strength. It was mine too; at one point of time. Not anymore though. Every attachment weakens me today. Because of my inherent nature, I have the habit of holding my 'attachments' fervently, carefully weaving them in my thoughts and life, making a brilliant pattern out of them and with them, the one that only I can understand and admire. But I also know they are weak links inside me. I become undone like any woolen fabric when you pull a string of its intricately woven design. Because, every string is attached to another and it is the combined strength of these strings that hold the fabric together. My 'attachments' hold me too. But every single 'attachment' I seem to have is also like that string in the woolen fabric which has the power to pull me apart. And I dread, that at the end of it all, I am going to be nothing but a quagmire of unwoven strings, messed in itself to an extent where it becomes almost impossible to untangle it, to make any sense or purpose out of it.

I know you want to help me. But you shouldn’t. I have to fight my own battles. I have fought them till now. I know I haven’t won all of them. But I have fought, sometimes thoughtfully and sometimes otherwise. And I shall continue them. 

Besides, there is not a long way to go anymore. The destination lurks nearby. I can sense it, feel it, maybe I would be able to see it soon. But before I reach there, I need to pull all my strings back to myself, start the process of detachment and stop letting myself getting undone anymore. Because when it is time to leave, I do not wish to be held back by the combined strength of these strings.      




Written for Three Word Wednesday Week No. 407 – Brilliant, Fervent, Thoughtful

Tuesday, 23 December 2014

Saturday, 13 December 2014

When reasons cease to exist !!

Sometimes, it is so sad that the reasons of sadness cease to exist. If you ask yourself the rationale behind that burden, you don’t get an answer. Because they are way too many. And your distractions don’t seem to be helping you either. Even your addictions seem to be behaving stubbornly. Intoxications. And even your ink. Not giving you the kick that you need. A kick to forget things. Atleast haze them out for a while. And you wonder. And you remember.

A crushing heartbreak. That decision you did not take. A well-wishing colleague who backstabbed. Friends who lost touch or did you stop communicating? The claustrophobic feeling you get when you are surrounded by people who you know will never understand an iota of the madness inside you. The voice you did not raise when you had to. The helplessness when you couldn’t ease the pain of somebody you cared for. When you lost your own self worth because you weren’t good enough for somebody else. When the voice of the rebel inside was muffled. Muffled for too long. When the company of some people was so comforting that you just spilled yourself into them only to realize they were refrigerators. Because you never received the warmth back. Anger that went undirected because you were too scared to show it and all you did was burn edges of your own self.

The mundane existence of life and your incapability to change it. Life - that did not turn out to be the way you had imagined, or more importantly, it turned out to be exactly the way you hated it to be. When your life isn’t your own entirely. And you laugh as you write this. Because 'life' is such an overwhelming horizon to talk about, when the fact remains that you are bound by societal rules of what is correct, moral and dutiful even about the way your body should be used, abused or behave.

The insult. The injuries. The wounds and the silent blood. The worst of all – the feeling when you realize that you have stopped wearing your own skin. Or is it other way round. Have you ever worn it? Ever? Questions. Answers to which you know. But rather not say out loud. For they might expose. Vulnerabilities. The cracks within the fa├žade.  

Sometimes it all just comes crashing down. Like a pack of cards that collapse at the slightest of a push. May be sometimes it does not even need something as hard as a push; just a slight nudge is enough. Enough for it to collapse. When the reasons cease to exist. Because they are way too many!



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