NaPoWriMo Day 5 - Home

I own homes, way too many

To remember each one of their addresses

In their articulate spaces

And yet I know, every single nook

every single lane, every other crook

I run my fingers along their edges

Nourishing myself, pouring them into me

I learn, I breathe, I bloom

Cherishing every stay

I return in happiness and in gloom

They hold me, they cherish me

Make me feel one of them own

I am taken to travel, I am taken to meet

People so many

Humanity, human psyche

Black, white, grey and everything in between

Emotions, unnamed, understated, unknown

I have known from these

I live amidst all the books I have read

In their pages

Lurking between their spaces

They have my heart, they have my head

No matter what

I wouldn’t trade this home for anything ever instead

# Writing for NaPoWriMo attempting to everyday for the month of April. Combining this with prompts from The Alipore Post 

NaPoWriMo Day 1 - Gentle

They say it hits you like lightening, sweeps you off your feet and makes you walk on moonbeams.

The books told me it would make you hear violins in the sky, fill your stomach with butterflies and make your heart flutter with bittersweet anxiety every night.

The movies showed that I would get lost all the time, smile unknowingly at strangers and burst into dance sequences in the middle of a railway stations.

I thought it would make me lose my sense of time, fill me up with candyfloss giddiness and let me dream with eyes wide open.

All it did was take off some invisible burden from my drooping shoulders, joining them with his own and showed me togetherness in everything. Who said love couldn't be gentle in its arrival?

# Writing for NaPoWriMo attempting to everyday for the month of April. Combining this with prompts from The Alipore Post 

I smell of..

I smell of longing and sweet nothings
Of passion in eyes 
Merging with those browns

I smell of a divided time
That I counted with my heartbeats
And a black watch

I smell of unsaid words
And written diary notes
After which I fidgeted a lot

I smell of fragility, beauty and everything I cannot undo
Then I remembered
That I smell of you.

Coffee date. With Myself and some untold stories

Wooden flooring. Wooden furniture. Muted colours and yellow lights. Sunday. Coffee date. With myself. And some untold stories.

Father and son in the diagonal corner. Quiet middle aged son and a cranky looking father. Giving life advices. Maybe finding faults in the way he has been working on his finances.

A newly married couple on their right. Their dewy eyes. The way her mehndi clad hands brush against his. Unknowingly. Or rather knowingly. The eagerness in him to see her eyes smile.

On the next. A college group of four. Too busy in their own selves. The only worry is attendance in the college enough to let them appear for the exam. Crushes. On friends. And teachers too. An overwhelming age. When everything seems possible. When your friends are your therapists and relationship experts.

Four friends again on the next table. Girl gang. Women who hold you at the time of your first heartbreak and also save you from your fashion disasters. Women who share the same impulse of buying shoes. May be bags too. Of choosing wrong guys as well? May be.

Farthest corner. Strangers. I can guess from the stiffness in their body language and also from the regular hot cappuccinos on the table. A chain marketing effort. There are pens and notepads. Ferocious scribbling. ‘For example, if you invest …’ a voice from that table.

Exactly opposite. An occasional look around the room. An occasional longing to hear what others are saying. But mostly in his own self. With his laptop and headphones. Like me. Probably a loner. Like me.

The place smells of coffee. And of untold stories. Only if you are keen to smell. The smell of brewing strong family bonds, of fizzy new love, of warm friendships, of promising business opportunities and of being complete in oneself.

Sunday. Coffee date. With myself. And some untold stories.

‘So what does your dad do?’

You know what, it is burdening to lie every single time when somebody asks, ‘Oh, what does your dad do?’ After mumbling a few incomprehensible words, you hope and try and wish that the conversation steers in some other direction. Every single time, it feels as if I have committed a crime and I am hiding every aspect of it, trying to build stories around it and trying to sound as convincing as possible. Most of the times, I fail myself but hey, I haven’t been caught till date.

Today, I wanted to write some fancy poetry. Unfortunately I am bad at poetry and I don’t think I can put it in words what I feel right now. So I am just going with the flow. This entire month, fitness companies, bakeries, online shopping portals and many more have been bombarding my email account with gifts that can be bought for my dad. I go through every email diligently. Except for the fact that I can’t buy anything. I just cannot. Today. Father’s Day. Sunday. I open my Facebook as I do every day after I wake up. My timeline today is full of people uploading their pictures with their fathers, statuses wishing them and thanking them for whatever they have been to them. I close my Facebook after a few minutes. Tears rolling down my eyes don’t let me see it for a long time. I cry in the bathroom. I know if I cry in open, others will too. I also know somewhere they have cried too. So yeah, I cannot wish my dad, a Happy Father’s Day or put a status message or change my picture with him because he isn’t with us anymore. 14 years ago we lost him. To cancer. (Btw, Fuck you Cancer)

I do not remember what it is to have a father. I do not. In spite of the fact that I was 16 when we lost him. Still, I don’t. Except some glimpses of his sternness towards me all the growing up years and his not showing of emotions that he loved his children (Well, mom says he did and I will have to believe her I guess). I do remember his last months though. In the hospital and at home, seeing him get weaker by the day, losing him bit by bit every single hour, awaiting the doom that clawed its way into our lives minute by minute. And most of all, what I remember is hope. Hope that he will be better. He didn’t.

What followed was sympathy. Pretty obvious right? Except for the fact that I wasn’t ready for it. So, just after the first few days, when a close friend’s mother asked me what would happen to my school fees and that she could pay it for me because they do a lot of ‘charity’ as such, I decided there and then that I shall not reveal that my Dad is no more to anyone. And I have followed that till date. Except a few closest of the friends (seven to be precise) nobody knows this. So when I write this today, understand that it has taken immense amount of courage to come out about this.

I do not remember what it is to have a doting figure who will take care of all the things. I do not know what it is to not be worried about what will happen in future. I also do not know how to think that there is somebody at home who will solve all my issues, emotional, financial or anything else. Well, it is said that daughters are way too close to their dads. But. I do not know. That being said, it does not mean my father wouldn’t have done all this while I was young. This just means that I have a bad memory, may be because I was young and may be because I too have inherited his genes of not showing emotions to people around. (I write about them though. Don't know what he did)

I don’t know why I chose to write this post. I think it’s mostly because I haven’t been able to talk to anybody about this all these years and the burden sometimes gets on to me and most importantly I think I got overwhelmed by all the Facebook activity of dads on my timeline. Yeah, Facebook sometimes does that to you!

If you are reading this, here’s one thing I expect out of you. If you know me personally and have just come to know about this, please do not ask me awkward questions the next time you see me and most of all, please do not sympathize at all.

I sometimes think it was a decision taken in childish zest (I was sixteen. What else do you expect) Maybe that woman was really concerned or maybe it was just the tone of her voice that made me want to hide and not see such ‘charitable’ people again. But I stuck to my decision. Left school. Graduation. Post Graduation. Job. Bus friends. Random friends. Blogger friends. Acquaintances. I kept my word to myself. And kept on answering one awkward question after another. ‘So what does your dad do?’ My answer from now might be this, ‘He watches over us. Somewhere from far far above.’ Happy Father’s Day Dad !

Words

A nudge. Sometimes, that's all that is required. That it's about time you recede your steps. A hint. An incidence. A phone call. And a repetition of all that has broken you. And you begin to grow. Inward. Start your journey back. Give up the emotional cushion you had begun leaning on. Unintentionally though. Because you know better now. You aren't prepared for hurt again. So you know it's the best time. To retreat. Find comfort in things that don't treat you like an option.

Words. They have always been there whenever you have needed them. To heal you. To warm you. To soothe you. To cure you even. Always. Though you have been mocked, time and again for taking refuge in words. In fiction. In life away from reality.

Words. Because they mean much more to you than just some alphabets put together. They mean darkness inside you spilled out on paper so that some light can enter, at least. Because they mean solace. They mean preference. Because they are your words when you write them. And they are written for you when you are reading them.

Words. Because they mean the world. Because they don't treat you as an option. Because they are yours. And you are them.

The Lovers and The Leavers

The lovers who turn into leavers. The leavers who you try to take as lovers. You sometimes have an inkling from the very beginning that they aren't meant for you. That no matter how much they mean to you, you are never going to be as important for them. You see it coming. Their absence. Your expectations. And the combined hurt.

You probably have thought about it in your head. You think that you will survive through this too. After all you've seen worse. You've felt far more unwelcome in their life while you were with them. I mean how much could this hurt? How bad could it be? Maybe that's why you have prepared yourself for it. Rehearsed the whole scene. Tried to guess the reaction. Yours and theirs too.

Then why did you have that lump in the throat? Why did you have to reprimand yourself all the time to be strong. You wanted to feel that it wasn't hurting. But it actually was.

That's when you realize that no matter how much you prepare yourself for someone's leaving, you are never going to be prepared until the precise moment comes. That every person in your life leaves their impressions in you.

That every person who leaves, adds to the emptiness. That every time you find someone to distract you for a while is creating a bigger hole inside you.

That's when you start living the froth. Showing the foamy parts of you. The prettier version. All made up. Because you don't want anyone to see the hole. In the hope that one day, maybe even you would not be able to feel it. Maybe. Maybe someday.

Courage

Drawn into him

Day and night

Attraction, attention, temptation

He was mine

Insides would glow

On the sight of him

In his glorified togetherness  

I would begin to swim

Jealousy took over

When he talked about her

That he seemed happy

Was the only succour

Oh, the suffering,

This heart endured

It does take courage to love

What isn’t meant to be yours!

Written for  Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Courage

Shadows - The Oddquain

how

and why do

shadows of past ghosts

follow though we have dissolved

ages

ago in murky waters

of flaring egos

our ashes

rot

Written for B&P Shadorma and Beyond –The Oddquain

Oddquain Butterfly – a nine-line stanza with 1-3-5-7-1-7-5-3-1 syllables

Jade - Haiku

paper looks jaded

words fail when I want to write

my feelings for you

Written for Carpe Diem Time Machine # 15 - Jade

Do You? Ever?

Do you ever think of me when you are just about to close your eyes for the day? Do you sometimes wake up and smile for no reason because you have dreamt of me? dreamt of us? Do I ever cross your mind when you feel that your insides would burst because something burdens it so much that it no longer has the strength to pump life one more time? Does your happiness ever taste bland because you can no longer share it with me?

Do your fingers ever linger at my name in your phone book when you are searching for somebody whose name starts with my initials? Do you sometimes, on an impulse, open the folder containing my pictures in your old laptop and never realize how minutes turn into hours?

Does my absence ever bother when you go on trips alone that were on ‘our’ wishlist? Does your heart ever skip a beat at the prospect of meeting me one more time, even if it is just from far away, even if we would be in a room full of people and we may not even share a single word?

Do you ever try and replay my voice in your head, the way I pronounced your name, the way I called you when I was angry and when I was happy or when I was passionately falling for you? Do you ever recall the way I looked into your eyes while we made love and you kept on asking why did I keep on staring in them? I never told you. All I answered was 'just'. Well, let me tell you today, I searched myself in them.

Do my thoughts ever hauntingly follow you while you are neck deep in most mundane works? Do you ever feel so lonely without me that you wouldn’t mind if you lost your breath right that moment because you just can’t see a point in continuing a life where I am not a part of it?

Do you, atleast in your mind, speak my name, when somebody mentions the word ‘love’? Tell me, do you? Ever? 

Written for Three Word Wednesday Week No. 426

U - Used to

He:	Do you love me?
She:	Of course I do
He:	You do?
She:	Yep. Why is it so surprising?
He:	Just wondering what do you mean when you say you love me
She:	I love you the way I can, but I can love you the way I want. But, loving you the way I want would mean loving you the way I shouldn’t
He:	Wow. That was something
She:	I know. And I also know you just might not have made any sense out of it
He:	It made sense
She:	But you wished it didn’t make sense, isn’t it?
He:	Well..
She:	You know you are not obliged to reciprocate what I feel for you, right?
He:	And why would you say that?
She:	Because I am used to not being loved back equally This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge - 2015

T - Traits

He:	You know you have been talking a hell lot about him lately
She:	Have I? Well, I guess I haven’t really realized
He:	Oh yes, you do
She:	You do what? Talk a lot about him? Or realize that I talk a lot about him?
He:	Both, I guess
She:	Well. What can I say?
He:	So, what is it?
She:	What is What?
He:	Why are you so much into him?
She:	Not all questions have answers
He:	I am sure this one has.
She:	Is it now?
He:	Yep. Okay, let me make it simple for you? So what is his most endearing quality according to you?
She:	That he can sometimes be as warm as winter sunshine and at times as cold as a grave. And believe it or not, I am attracted by both these traits equally This post is written as a part of April A to Z Challenge - 2015