Uncomfortably romantic

it's like walking into
a chaos so similar
that you're unable to
identify yours...


it's like sharing silences
so comfortable
that it becomes 
uncomfortably romantic...


it's like that celestial
connection you form
even as you know
it can't be requited...


it's like tangling
your life into theirs
knowing that you'd
get stuck in that
beautiful purgatory forever...


it's like the gravitational pull
between the moon and earth
which keeps them alive
only when they are apart...


it's that seductive discomfort
you've willingly embraced and
do not want to let go off...


somewhere between
a hot and cold mess
you do not wish
to come out of...


lies a space known only to an
uncomfortably romantic heart

letter to a suicide helpline

  

dear reader of my mail,

how are you doing today? not a great icebreaker, i know. well, i have never been spectacular at interactions. i was not sure how to approach you, R. can i call you 'R'? R is for reader, okay? just saying.

today, as the sun was shutting its shop for the day, i keyed in the helpline number, but couldn't hit the call button. just like a few years ago when i thought to call before contemplating to jump off from a moving train or last year when i wanted to play a single-player tic-tac-toe on my wrist using a glistening sharp blade.

you see, R, as i was growing up, i always failed in learning this widely-spoken language of self-expression. but i thought, at least today, i should do myself a favour and indulge in doing something i'm moderately good at - writing. i would have added a tinge of romance to this interaction by putting a pen to paper and posting an actual handwritten letter to your office address, but you'll have to blame this pandemic. Or maybe you're just relieved that you're being spared from this theatrics. :P

i won't make it long, i promise. i know you might have to look at several such emails and attend calls daily. you may not hurry to respond to mine. it's fine if you want to use your time to respond to the ones who urgently need help. i completely understand. :)    

so, here goes...

as my life is passing me by, i stumble upon this beautiful book, which i feel, talks to me. it even touches a raw nerve sometimes when it narrates a story which is eerily similar to mine. it makes me feel, as if, i belong to that book or as if it's written for me. its greyed, yellowed pages bear the same scars as mine. it bleeds words soaked in excruciating pain and heartache as mine. it asks me questions which no one ever does. it makes me cry, it makes me uncomfortable, it makes me anxious, and also makes me rattle those several rusty locks of the tightly-sealed entrance door of my fortress. sometimes, i feel, that this book sees through my pain, or may be even my soul. scary, no? or just painfully beautiful?  

but, you know, R, after basking in this thought for a while, i realized that the book is written for thousands of troubled readers like me. it is meant to conjure its magic on those lost souls like me seeking a fantastical escape or a secure home for their ravaged minds. i realized i'm not its only reader. i'm not exclusive. i'm not special. you know, R, just like it has always been like that for me with most of my relationships. i know mine is such an unrealistic expectation from a book. but i'm a human no after all? can't a book lover fall for a nice book? i can feel you agreeing with me there right now... :D

but it's alright, i guess. i shouldn't fuss about such things... aur bhi gham hai zamaane me meri sad kahaniyon ke siva... :P :D (that's a borrowed line from faiz I tweaked for satiating my unnecessarily raging creative urges here.) 

never mind, though, at least this book unknowingly made me do this - write to you, R, and your wonderful organization. i must confess, that even writing this was somewhere close to cathartic, like caressing the earth of the hilltop after a nerve-racking climb. just like it has always been for me, when i try speaking the language, i guess, i will never ace.

you may not respond to this email, R. it's fine. i would like to revel in the thought that your eyes met this last line.

 

you take care, R.

may the force be with you

 

 

 

p.s: after my suicide post, i thought i might follow through. corona-inflicted 2020 is almost over but i'm still alive. sorry to disappoint. 

dear son...

 no moment has ever been

so magical for me

than seeing you 

for the first time

after nine months' journey

when we look at

your tiny limbs

your sleepy eyes

your full cheeks &

your innocent smiles

we're eternally grateful, 

my love, to have you 

in our lives

I hope my womb 

& your dad's love

were warm & safe 

enough for you

because, my love, 

it's in a tough world 

you've come into

we want you to be  

independent, knowledgeable, 

fearless and boundless

we also want you to have a  

bit of our qualities, no less 😋

we want you to explore, 

succeed, fail, rise

and live your life to the fullest

life can be difficult and unforgiving

but always remember, my love,

no matter what we will always 

be by your side

We love you,

To the moon and back

(I wrote this for my sister's son who was born in 2020. She had asked me to write it on her behalf. Weird? I know. :P But who reads this blog anyway?! Just want to keep my words alive somewhere.)