Tag Archives: Feelings

Flowers live longer in a Graveyard

Sometimes, when you feel like you have found everything you realise it was, is and will never be anything. Some people make you feel as bright as thousands suns but, don’t you see that they also bring with them the potential of darkness that thousands suns couldn’t brighten. When you are with someone for so long, don’t you see that they become more fragile with each day? That so long can become no long and did you not see that? As it turns out, I stopped seeing after a while. I didn’t see it.

I have been wandering around aimlessly, looking for nothing in particular. Obviously, I was blind and I have been blind. One day I woke up and knew that I was blind and the knowledge ached my burning eyes. I now wanted to see something, anything. So I looked around. Frantically, desperately, endlessly. I saw nothing.

I was on a random bus which was headed somewhere I don’t know, I didn’t care. I was looking. And after a very long time, I saw something. Flowers, flowers in a cemetery. Have you seen this?

Flowers live longer in a graveyard.

I have bought flowers for someone, they die eventually. Someone has bought me flowers, I tried to render them but they die eventually. But, you place flowers by a grave and they live. They live longer.

Can death give someone life? Can death give someone hope? Or is it just death which lives longer? They come in all colours and you often wonder if someone places them here this morning. I got off the bus, I had to know.

I couldn’t touch them, of course I was terrified. But, I was happy. There were flowers around me. So, I wondered if someone placed them here this morning. But I looked around and flowers everywhere looked just as fresh and alive. Did someone place all these flowers today morning? That’s not possible is it? These flowers have been alive for all this time, I do not know how long.

Do these flowers live longer here than in my vase because someone tends to them? But who would look after flowers in a graveyard. Perhaps, it’s the hopes and dreams and love that they stand for. Can someone’s memory be enough to help you live longer… Can someone’s sacrifice make you stronger? Can someone’s absence make you grow fonder?

Perhaps it is in the state of mourning that one finds true solace in. When you love something, someone so much you often find them only when they are gone. And I would spend all my days in this state if it makes me feel the way it made me feel, in that cemetery. Do you think death could ever bring me happiness? I don’t mean death as in when someone does not live any longer. I mean death of dreams, and hopes, and relationships. Could the dead within make themselves live longer?

I wouldn’t know. I guess I am surprised that I hadn’t seen this before. But I knew in that moment, Flowers live longer in a graveyard.

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Letter to the Best Friend

My Best friend and I are changing cities. She’s moving to Mumbai for a Degree in Fashion Communication. While I am moving to London, a continent away. This is just me pouring my heart. Its really sloppy, but hey cut me some slack. I am grieving with the move and all. So ignore this if heartfelt ode to a best friend isn’t your cup of tea.

Dear Best Friend,

So its understandable that life’s too short and there are too many people to meet. But, I am grateful to have met you. Its been short, our ride, 2 years of knowing someone has never been this insightful. It is amazing how comfortable we make each other and we can be at our worst when together. I can say a lot of nice things about you to you and make this all about the good times but no, I am going to do what I do best. Take the moment away.

I am sorry for all the times in life that you felt less because of me. I am sorry when you had to go through shit, which you otherwise wouldn’t have had to if I wasn’t in the picture. I am also sorry that I say awful things to you. I am always the one who yells at you, who picks fights, who drags you into mirror mazes when you absolutely hate them, pull you to social scenes where you feel awkward and shut up for eternity. I am sorry for all of this and more.

The truth is- between us- I am the talker and you are the listener. I am not all that good a talker but you are the best listener I have ever met. You listen to me. You take my advices you execute them and you imply them. Do you know how much that means to me? Its my everything. You, you make me feel important. You make me feel like I am something. You give a crap about me.

A lot of people mock us about the fact that you click me way too many pictures, which you do and I force you to. A picture to the world is when I post it on Facebook and we have a photography page that we haven’t really worked on. But the thing is that Pictures are our thing. Its not just the end result, its the process. All that planning, even on a train, all the clothes, all the logistics, the posing, the ‘be natural’ ‘don’t make that face’ ‘you want to jump?’ ‘Twirl around’ and then the picture selection, deleting 400 pictures and then me lecturing you about pictures like I know jackshit and then the final picture which you always think isn’t good enough. Its not just the picture, its us, how we actually do it. No one understands it like we do. I like helping you out with your passion, its so real. Obviously I am selfish, but I do it for you (and the 500 Facebook likes). You are good at it, you are going to be better with time. And then someday we’ll click pictures at each other’s wedding. However, at your wedding we’ll hire a photographer or I will focus on the wrong thing all over again.

I wish we could talk through our exam nights, but I do not want to jeopardise NIFT exams for you. I am actually very happy for you. We need to be out there you know? You’ll do really well. I have always told you make wrong decisions right? Let me tell you you are strong. Take all my advices, visualise them, take them in and just hell with them anyway. Because you are perfect and I believe in you. I believe in you like I am your family, like only I do. I believe in your talent and in your soul. Go get NYFA. Through it all remember me. Also remember to call me up because I might forget (Smile bitch). You make a nice Pillow and you are the world’s best driver. Remember the things I told you. The things I prepared you for because I am Mumma from day 1. 

The problem with going away is, the fear of the unknown. We’ve been attached to the hip through these 2 years. And then suddenly that won’t be the case. All over ‘outgoingness’ will come down to FaceTime (see the Mac joke). And I am just scared. I will miss you, dude. I always make jokes about going away and missing you and everything but god dammit it hurts. It’s going to be difficult with out you like only 11 kms away. The truth is, you’ve always been nice to me. Very nice in fact. And I’ve only been funny. I am sorry I took moments away because I hell need some right now. I should’ve always told you how much you mean to me instead of cracking a stupid joke. I hope you know that I am telling you now. 

You mean World to me. If there is a friends forever, I want to make it with you 🙂

Are you crying? Awh. Check under your bed. I hid a huge fluffy nothing! 

I love you and I will always remember you and I will miss you. I will see you ever year and we’ll continue being us in different continents. We’ll be fine, babe.

Yours,

Forever.

Inconsistency

Let’s celebrate the fact that my blog is now a year old. And I haven’t written since the last few days (okay, months.) I started this blog hoping I would create something vividly interesting, be someone’s reason to look forward to life, but alas, here I am, a giant writer’s block posting popular, deep and irrelevant poems just to keep the followers going.

The truth is that, I am Inconsistent. Inconsistent with reality, inconsistent with people, inconsistent with the pace of time; basically just lost. On some days, I am Julie Andrews from Sound of Music and then most days I am just Jack’s inflamed sense of rejection. It’s a feeling of impending doom that just won’t subside. You wake up every day hoping to achieve certain standards and then its 3 a.m. when you are blatantly staring at the wall. There’s this spirit in me that wants to do something but I lack the motivation to act on it. There’s this idea but I lack the resources to execute it. There’s this plan but I just don’t show up.

Inconsistency lies in the fact that I want to but I don’t. There’s no reason, there’s no trigger and there’s no way out. And it absolutely bums me out to have this sense of delusion with no rationale. I cannot call it depression or boredom or unhappiness or misery or dejection. But I feel depressed, bored, unhappy, miserable and dejected. Adjectives but no nouns. What is more inconsistent than the fact that I cannot explain it? I am caught in this circle of life where all I can do is wait. My life is supposed to change drastically but there no reaction-time. For good or for worse my life is supposed to change. Either way, the valence is all negative. And I stand to lose in every situation. Every time I play it in my head, it is inconsistent.

And if it sounds like my life is a mess, it isn’t. My life is practically perfect at the given moment. This makes it worse, because I am inconsistent with its perfection. What do I do if I stand to lose no matter what I do? Am I a bad person if I choose to escape? I am all over the place, confusing you like this. But you will understand me if you know what it feels like not to be good enough, to die ordinary, to be afraid of the unknown, to run out of patience, to wait for something you desperately want.

That echoed. Either you are inconsistent with my writing or you are inconsistent like me. And I hope it is the former.

Bedtime Stories

Before you start reading, this one is going to be better than Adam Sandler, Trust me.

Gone are the days when my mother read me a story and it always ended well. They lived happily ever after and I slept happily ever since.

Bedtime Stories have changed from fables to rants, from fantasy to veracity. Sleep Procrastination is the technical term and it is addictive. People who are ‘Bedtime Procrastinators’ make huge unrealistic plans and on the contrary do very little to actually make them happen; in the night, wide awake, on their beds while the world sleeps because they ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING! Now hold it, I can make these conjecture because I indeed am one. *smirk*

It is at 2 a.m. when I suddenly feel determined to change my life, read more, make more friends, make amends and be a better person. I often run scenes in my head about conversations which could have been better. *Damn. I should’ve said this.* I make up scenarios which can never possibly even happen.

  • Andrew Garfield staring at me while I work in my lab coat. (Ain’t no one got time for that.)
  • Running around in my Jimmy Choo shoes.
  • Being on Dr. House’s team.
  • Actually speaking better than Oprah Winfrey.
  • Being the Honorable guest at Obama’s Birthday party. (Like, I am stoned.)

Jokes apart, I actually do quite a lot of thinking. Serious emotional drama in those moments of weakness. Assumptions can actually make life simpler (or harder). Procrastination makes life seem a cake walk, because I have contemplated a situation from EVERY possible angle while I couldn’t sleep. Its like preparing yourself for the day that awaits you. I am complete in this moment, I am satisfied for while procrastinating, I live life on my terms.

Sleep Procrastination has now become a drug. Not one day goes by that I do not make up a lullaby.

Guess What.

It’s Working.

Bedtime Stories

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