Convalescence

She thought about the proximities of love. About abstinence and role play. Her addiction to cold coffee. His addiction to her. Her to his smell. His to her breasts, her smile, her feet, her thighs. Separation, distances both virtual and real. Could she make his realise that she was a person first, an object of desire later? Could he understand that she loved him, deeply, but the expanse of land which separated them, across miles, railway tracks and highways may be separating them in their minds too?

Of course it was preposterous to think of separating. It takes courage, hardwork and a lot of strength to make relationships work. His stubble gliding down the broad of her neck, she could do without it. But his smile, his smile and the angst on his face when she missed a meal or was out too late, could that be replaced? Or the letters he wrote and the words he used? 

There were times she shut her eyes too tight trying to sleep or was simply wide awake because love wasn't supposed to be as convoluted and far from reach. She wrote about it too, feebly, making attempts to recuperate. She thought about the times they spent together, that one time when he was sick, the only time he was sick around her; she couldn't do anything to ease his pain. She didn't know how to. She didn't take care of herself when she fell sick but merely tossed on the bed, had soup and coffee and drown in a pile of tissues. In that sense, she was really low maintenance. 

Maybe she is used to giving up too easily. Maybe tangible relationships isn't her thing. Maybe she was a cynic first and a lover later. Could she be consumed by love but not feel it at all? She had this crazy thought of cutting her hair really short, because he loved her hair and maybe metaphorically if she could rid of the things he loved about her, she could dispense off her feelings for him as well?

Love defiles life and strangely it defines it too. Oh. Yes. The glide of her head on his heaving chest, the affirmation that attraction is never sedentary, that it either consumes you fully or doesn't affect you at all. 

Miss Dash turns 22!

It is mildly difficult to chronicle the life and times of a spirited girl, who knows of sadness but never speaks of any. And the fact that while most ramble about morals, rights and principles, she gets her point across, quietly. You'd think she never tries, but she does. She always does. Not to excel but to strive. She is a 'food fairy' to some, an empathetic soul who always has time to hear you out, even when she is dead tired or not particularly up for a conversation or both.

But Miss Dash, even on her bad hair and bad clothes day is super fun. What I like best about her is that she never imposes anything. Not even chicken drumsticks, which she is so fond of. Instead she'll settle for my terribly spicy Chicken 65, with a gallon of water at her disposal and also a cute red nose.

Her calmness and positiveness is a sight for sore eyes, especially in times when people tell you can't, she will not tell you to screw them and be as you are. She will brilliantly (read: cunningly) coax you to be better for yourself first, and if you like your version of you, then discouragement, if it were a Harry Potter character, would apparate into thin air. 

Sanchita is perennially excited about shoes, clothes and offers on online shopping websites but she is also aware about the mining conflict in Niamgiri Hills. She is a romantic, but is aware of the repercussions of falling out with someone. 

So on the birthday of someone I call home in Hyderabad, what could I possibly say?

At the risk of sounding cliched, I will ask you to remain as you are. Not everyone takes friendships or friends too seriously. But I am glad you do. I am glad that you are a whiff of fresh air and that you are awesome at reading minds and reaching out to people selflessly. 

I am overwhelmed that for someone's (READ MY) birthday you can manage to scout all book stores in town to get the last copy of a book she really wants to read. And that, you'd do for any friend of yours, whom you care for dutifully. 

And that's why there needs to be more Miss Dash's in the world, who can spoil you rotten and snap you back to your senses when life has almost got the better of you. That way, the world could be a better and a more habitable place, when love and affection greets you like cold nimbu paani at the end of a humid day. You could do without it, but you'd rather not.

Happy 22 Sanchita. Here's to you :)