Monday, 15 February 2016

What actually matters is inside you

I knew it was my last chance to save what I had then. A last chance to save my relationship from slipping away into oblivion. It had taken courage to dial her number. It had taken contemplation of days. Numerous drafts of messages that were written, edited and then deleted. Re-written and re-edited and when the ‘send’ button was finally pressed, I felt my breath being stuck in my windpipe till I received the reply.

It was a plea to meet. It was a plea to be able to at least put my point of view. A plea that I would be devastated if he left at this point. And she was my only messenger at that time. She was his best friend. Somebody he listened to. She was privy to everything between us. The fights, the arguments and the lovemaking too. I had felt violated in some way when I came to know that she knew everything about us. One might be the closest friend, but what happens between lovers should stay between lovers. But only I believed that, not him.

She agreed to meet over a weekend at a popular fast food chain near her office. Entire day, my stomach churned with nervousness and my heart paced like it was running a marathon. I rehearsed the lines I would say to her in my head. I wanted to tell her about the good, bad and mundane times we had shared. I wanted her to convince him to not leave me at a time when the marriage was on the cards and when I had moved mountains to convince my family. 

I reached on time and waited. I saw her walking towards me and something inside me dreaded this meeting. But I was determined to take my chance. We went inside, ordered the food and took our table.

We started talking about work and other stuff munching on the French Fries. I tried steering the conversation on the reason of our meeting. She probed what had happened. I told her whatever I could in an urgency as if my life depended on every sentence I uttered. But, my every argument for saving the relationship was counter argued with narration of every fight we had. It pinched hard that everything between us was already out there in front of a third person. My mouth was turning bitter with the bitterness in her voice. I was already declared a culprit. But like every alleged culprit I had to put my points hoping it would be my saving grace.

‘You know what I have been telling him since last three years to break up with you. He never agreed then. When you are not compatible with someone, you should just move on. What is the point of being unhappy and be in a relationship?’ she said dipping her burger in ketchup.

‘Three years?’ her words stung my ears. But we had started having arguments just six months back. How could she be convincing him to break up with me since three years? The questions loomed large. The answers of which I wasn’t ready to listen.

‘See’  she continued. ‘You have to be practical. You can’t be with someone who isn’t compatible with you. Do you understand what I am saying?’
I didn’t. Her practical advice felt like acid on my skin. I continued staring at her while she munched on her burger nonchalantly as if she were talking to somebody who was asking her advice on where to buy reasonably priced groceries.

‘Have you seen yourself in the mirror?’ I heard her.

‘Huh?’ I asked.

‘Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Just look at yourself. You are overweight. Much more than him. Don’t you think he has already been too kind in accepting you this way? I mean he looks way better than you since he isn’t fat like you.’ she said.

I stared.

‘I know you both were in a relationship and all that. But we have to be practical. I mean which guy would accept your weight while he is so fit. So I think you should tone down. Not just physically but also as a woman. Accept whatever he says. Do as he wants. He is the man after all. Plus he is accepting you with the weight. No man would want to be with you if you are healthier than him.’

Her words hung around me like stale air. I choked on them. She was another ‘woman’ I was talking to. An educated woman. An educated working woman.
And there she was. Telling me that I didn’t deserve my relationship just because I was overweight? That I was receiving some favour because the guy was fitter than me? That it was absolutely okay to pull down a woman by another woman just because she had more layers of fat around her than her man?

The noise around me had suddenly increased. A child bawled on the adjacent table. Something was nauseating me. I felt claustrophobic. Because there were too many people around? Or was it something else? Maybe the thought? That the only parameter a woman lays down for another woman for being in a relationship with somebody was her weighing scale.

The relationship eventually ended after I found that the real reason for the misunderstanding was not me but his interest in somebody else. But it was too late till then. Because somewhere deep inside, I blamed myself and the weight for everything that happened. Because I was judged for the outer appearance that I carried. Until I accepted myself for what I was. A person with stories to narrate, a person with poetry inside, a person who was not just her appearance.              


Did you know that:
a. 69% of men agree that their judgement of women is based on their looks.
b. 64% of women agree that the judgments passed on them have affected their ability to reach their true potential.
c. 70%of women agree that majority of judgments on women are from family members or friends rather than strangers.
d. 72% of women agree that working women face more judgments on their looks or their clothes than housewives.

“I’m breaking stereotypes based on appearance by sharing my experience for the #IAmCapable activity at BlogAdda in association with Nihar Naturals.”

Monday, 8 February 2016

In a heartbeat

‘In a heartbeat.’ A voice reverberated in my ears as he tried to push his hands inside my dress. I could feel his warm breath as he nuzzled my neck. I closed my eyes.

‘In a heartbeat’ - an echo.


His lips were on mine, hands caressing my hair. My eyes closed again. ‘Being around you is like walking on a double edged sword. You know me, without me saying much. That makes me feel vulnerable. Raw. You read me. Sometimes I am afraid to even think in front of you fearing you would read my thoughts. And I reprimand myself into staying away from you. But then, isn’t it wonderful to have at least one person in the world who understands without saying? That’s why you are the double edged sword’. My own words, coming from a lifetime ago that I had said to somebody.


 ‘All good?’ Rohan asked looking at me intently.

‘Yes’ I replied, running my fingers in his hair and pulling him closer to me.
Respond. I told myself. The body obeyed. While the heart sat there wearing a look swinging between sarcasm and disdain. I felt like a leaf that had detached from its tree and continued to sway in the direction the wind took it. I continued functioning the way I was supposed to. Work. Cook. Travel. Laugh. Like a functioning adult. The leaf missed its tree and I missed my soul.

‘In a heartbeat’. A voice. And then a jolt.

I felt my dress being removed over my head. His hands on an exploration spree. I tried to close my eyes and concentrate on reality. Although it felt as if I was seeing everything from a glass case as a third person. Refusing to feel anything and let anything affect me. Because I was inside that glass case. Nobody could see through it. Except that somebody. ‘In a heartbeat’ - that somebody had said. That somebody with whom I shared my brokenness and whatever little wholeness was left inside me. That somebody who was my best friend but who had a best friend which wasn’t me.  


He entered. I sighed. Mind fogged up and numbness took over. In the heart. The body responded though. He was happy seeing the body respond. Because he never noticed anything else. I don’t know how much time passed. The only thing that burned my ears throughout was a voice and his words.    

Rohan slept with his breath on my naked back and I lay awake with my thoughts. I had no clue how and why did I get into this relationship. But could you call it a relationship when the only thing both of you shared was the bed? When neither he nor you cared what you were going through? I tried to sleep.

‘If I was with you, would you have found out that I wasn’t feeling anything; that my heart wasn’t into it? I had asked somebody after telling him how empty I felt after I was touched by Rohan the first time and every time after that.

‘In a heartbeat’, he had said looking straight into my eyes in a voice that had haunted me since then. The sword put a gash where it hurt the most, where it was going to hurt the most. That was the last time I saw him.

- Posted for Prompt Nights: Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction. – Where we can opt to write either a poem on truth or create a fiction piece. Or perhaps we can combine both! 
A Week For Writing - Longings

Wednesday, 3 February 2016

Will you be my tomb?

Blue like my thoughts
Deep like my remorse
Your incessant roar
Like my emotions gone hoarse

Cold like my heart
Vast like my delusions  
Your recurrent crashing waves
Like my imminent apprehensions

Hollow like my chest
Wild like my fears
Your bottomless water
Like my salty grey tears

Dear Ocean,
Engulf me like wildfire
Will you be my tomb?
I seem to be tired
Let me rest in your womb!

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

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