Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Tomato Tomato

Desolation. Pain. Betrayal. Loneliness. Tomato Tomato. Sometimes a blur, sometimes brighter than the sunlight, searing into my skin.

A conundrum. The perks of being a journalist to being a writer first, ready to converse, share and confide. And then the remnants of love, found and lost. Mostly memories, the guy who grabbed you in the middle of a staircase and kissed you, first scaring you and then making you unimaginably emotional.

An emotional breakdown. The feeling of his skin on mine. Warm and comforting. A difficult day in office. And then a brilliant book. Seeing his forever contemplating face on my computer screen, a subtle sense of reassurance.

A futile attempt to join the gym. His laughter. His words, "I'll love you even when you're fat." Irritation mixed with despair, both of which, never get the better of me.

I want to write a book one day. But stories feel forever evasive. My ten year old brother finishes the fifth Harry potter book in a day. I have tears in my eyes.

My last vacation was a year and a half back. I miss home, a sense of belonging which feels so damn far. And also, of late, a strange boy with a strange name, who is always willing to make amends, "no matter how tumultuous times may be."

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

"Wo jo ruki si raah baaki hai
Wo jo ruki si chaah baaki hai"

It was one of those moments and one of those days. The concept of love seemed like complex hullabaloo, forever elusive. Moreover I didn't want my life to end up in a commotion where I would be a wreck, my feelings dispensed by how someone else felt about me. Also I was very particular about the kind of person I wanted in my life. Actually I just wanted one thing really - he should be anything, but me.

Not a vulnerable to the least, someone who could bear with me when I cry during videos of puppies falling off the stairs (poor little things!) Actually the idea was a little disfigured considering I grew up reading Danielle Steel and Nicholas Sparks - a world where machismo was limited to petite little things being swooned over by tall hunks, soldiers, doctors, lawyers. You know, the sorts. And I believed. Believed that it was possible that someone would like me even if I was being stupid, rowdy, a downright bully and even unfair at times. But for a long time, a harmful feeling continued to sink in that may be, just may be it's stupid to nourish a thought, where feelings were devoid of consequences.

So just like that, I stopped and became a cynic, weary of emotions, especially my own. And then, like a hitchhiker stranded in a desolate road, someone leaped into my life. Transforming my perpetual need of solitude to someone who craved company, human contact.

And surprisingly, we had similar histories. Just what I didn't want. Both downright introverts, ostensibly stubborn, sensitive and we knew the prayer "our father" by heart.

The only difference though, was that he liked cats and I loved dogs. And he had a better handwriting, was studying to be a lawyer and was somewhat a nerd. He sang like a dream while I danced to Gangnam style better than PSY. We were meant to be, after all.