Finding Acceptance

I truly believe, that only once in our life we come across someone who turns our world upside down, someone who has such a profound impact on you that you can never be the same again. In that sudden flash of realization we dare to be brave and see that love costs everything we are and everything we ever will be. We change so much for the sake of that one person. I changed so much for the sake of that one person. I found myself sharing my deepest desires, goals I could never achieve, my dreams and hopes for the future and all the disappointments life had thrown at me. I was surprised that I had so much hidden inside me. I was a better person then. I am a different person now. With you everything seemed colourful, insignificant things like a song, a note, a walk were invaluable treasures. Laughter seemed a part of daily life. The daily phone calls helped me to get through the long day and made me smile. It is because of you that today I have the confidence that I can paint. I had lost confidence in myself but your encouragement and faith made me take up art again. I was content having you in my life. But you were not and I failed to notice it. This discord and ruin of what was once a beautiful friendship and relationship happened because I couldn't accept what had happened. I had forgotten that I was free to chose but not free enough to escape the consequences of my choice. I was blocked from taking that next step in life because I just refuse to accept everything that had happened.
There is a fine line between love and dysfunction, a distinct difference between passionate and crazy. It is important that we learn to find acceptance. To accept who we are as a person, acceptance of the situation, acceptance of the fact that change is the only constant force in our life. We can only grow when we learn to accept. What we want may not always be what we need.  Accept that everything you love won’t always love you back. Accept that sometimes when you give, you’re giving to somebody who doesn’t know how to receive. They reject you out of their own neglect. I am learning to accept it slowly and allowing myself to open up to new experiences. 
Sometimes the things I am forced to accept cause me pain but its not the end of the world. I have realised that dwelling on certain things won’t do anything but make bad situation worse.Coming to terms with the loss or your situation simply means that you have admitted what has happened and moved on with your life. Acceptance and coming to terms with what happened between us does not mean that I have forgotten you, that I have forgotten what we were to each other. That can never happen. New love does not erase old scars, it does not change the real 'you'. I am still me and I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.  
 

If I never have to see you again....

I f I never have to see you again,
I will always carry you inside me,
Wrapped in my heart,
and immersed in my tears.
If I never have to see you again,
I will always carry you outside me,
your name scrawled in the inside of my thighs,
your scent infused in the curve of my neck,
your touch trailing my spine,
If I never have to see you again,
you will always remain in the centers,
centers of what remains of me....

THE THING

Do you know that feeling? When you have lost something but can’t remember what it was? You are desperately trying to think of it but it won’t come to you. You have said it a million times before and it was always there- right where you left it. But now you can’t recall it. You try and try and make it appear and it almost does. But it never does.

There are times when it surfaces-when I sense it on the tip of my tongue. I feel it struggling inside my chest to burst forth like a beach ball that can only be held beneath the water for so long.

I feel it stirring when someone hurts me. When I smile at a stranger and they don’t smile back. When I trust someone with a secret and they betray me. When someone I admire tells me I am not good enough for them.

I don’t know what it was that I have lost. But I know it was important. I know it once made me happy.

CROSSWORDS

I write to bring you closer. To imagine your fingers trailing on the curve of my neck onto my shoulder. To recall the feel of your lips in the curve of my waist. And how are bodies would fall into each other like words in a crossword puzzle. I write for the raw ache inside me when the ink seeps into the paper-for the bittersweet sorrow which comes from bringing you back.

THREE QUESTIONS

What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude.

It was like being exhumed, she answered. And brought to life in a flash of light.

What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy.

It was like being seen after perpetual darkness, she replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.

What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow.

There was a long pause before she responded.

It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me-said all at once.

Weather

You were the unexpected.

I did not expect your effect on my heart,

my mind,

my feelings,

my thoughts,

my dreams.

You were the soothing sound

of the light pitter-patter of a drizzle

on a June Sunday morning

in my brutal destructing hurricane.

Lost Things

When you have lost something-like a favorite CD or a set of keys- and while looking for it you come across something else you once lost but have long since forgotten?

Well whatever it was, there was a point where you decided to stop searching- maybe because it was no longer required or a replacement was found. It is almost as if it never existed-until that moment of discovering, a flash of recognition.

Everyone has an inventory of lost things to be found. Yearning to be acknowledged for the worth they once held in your life.

I think that is where I belong- among your lost things. An old photograph pressed between the pages of your book. I hope someday you will find me and remember what I once meant to you.

Soul

When my soul fell in love with you, there was only this yearning to be close to you. The presence that is felt through a hand held, a voice heard or a smile seen.

My soul doesn't know any calenders or clocks, nor does it understand time and distance. It only knows that it feels right to be with you.

This is the reason why I miss you- my soul feels your absence.

"Can I ask you something"?

"Anything".

"Why is it that every time we say goodnight, it feels like a good bye"?

Waking without You

Every song sings of you,

from every tear falling,

I sing along;

in dreams of you

I cling to

when I start waking.

Remembrance

I remember my highs,

as dark as his eyes,

as the sun set;

the dark of his hand covered the pale of mine,

and the easiness of his smile.

I remember my sorrows in hues,

like the grey of his shadows,

looming on my body,

and the white of his lie

when he promised to stay.

The Question

It was a question I had worn on my lips and etched into my heart. For days it lingered inside me, like a loose thread on a favorite sweater. I couldn't help tugging it often. I couldn't resist the the temptation of pulling it, knowing full well it will unravel around me.

"Do you love me"? I asked

In your hesitation I found the answer.

A Reverie

A dusty room

                     a couch by the window

                     unseeing, moist eyes

                     gaze in to a forgotten past

                     the melange of a love affair.

A festival

                     of memories

                      spinning round 

                      into a blur

Her mind 

                is a playground of 

                pain, regrets, loss

               she wonders if you think of her.

First Love

Before I fell

                   in love with words;

                    with the blooming flowers

                    with the setting skies

                    with the sad melodies

                    with the singing birds

                    and black beauty of the night-

                     it was you I fell

                     in love with first.

Letting You Go

There is a peculiar kind of suffering to be experienced when you love someone greater than yourself. A particular kind of hollow emptiness where the absence of that one person gnaws at your inside. A tender sacrifice.

It is like the lost melody of a phoenix or the bent and broken feet of a dancer. It is in every step I am taking in the opposite direction of you.

I Love You, But I Love Myself More

My friends think I’m mad. Not for leaving — that, they’ve been encouraging me to do for a long time — but for having stayed with you for so long. They could see that you were smart, intelligent and charming enough in conversation. Everyone could see the superficial qualities you possessed. But for me to have given so much of myself to you over such an important chunk of my youth, that was insane. When I told them that I was finally going to cut it off, my friends jumped with joy.

You’ll ask me if I love you, and I do. You’ll give me all of these big, overdone speeches about how much I mean to you and that I am so important to you that if we happen to stop talking to each other you’d die- and that’s probably true, actually. People won’t love me the same. They will love me more wholly, more healthily, more meaningfully. Our love will become an unfortunate phase on a timeline, something that I look back on and shake my head. You will be a cautionary tale, and you know it. Even as you throw a dish and tell me that I am the one to blame, that I am the crazy one here.

The truth is that I do love you. I am consumed by you, and partially by how badly you treated me. I have grown accustomed to always being told how other girls were far better than I am, that what I do is wrong, that I should be doing this instead. It’s almost comforting to have someone there to dictate your life, like your mother laying out your school clothes the night before so you don’t have to think about it. But there is only so far I can get with that kind of love, so much I can allow it to take over my life before I realize that I am only doing myself a disservice. My parents would have never embraced you. My girlfriends would have never forgiven you. And I am not interested in torturing myself with questions relating to you and your girlfriend, whether you love her or not? I’m sure you will. And maybe you’ll manage to fool her for even longer than you did me.

Because I know that my love for you is something fundamentally unhealthy, something that chips away at my ego and saps at my self-confidence in order to grow something which we all know isn’t going to last. It is an addiction like any other, something that I am paying for with my personality and autonomy and future. The relation with you came at a high cost. I picture myself staying in this relationship for another year, another three years, the rest of my life — I hate what I see. I hate how many parts of me I allow you to take with you when you walk out of the room, how many opportunities I give up on so that you will believe I really love you.

I love me more. I love the idea of growing into someone who has her own apartment, her own career, her own future that only she dictates. I want to meet the woman I become when I free myself of shitty men like you, when I allow myself to make mistakes and do all of the things that I would never be able to do with you. You compared me with every single girl on earth because I think you are afraid of what I’ll be without you. Maybe you think I’ll realize that I could do better, or that I simply deserve better. Maybe you think I’ll look in the mirror and notice that I’m beautiful.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that is already the case. Goodbye. 

Dating A Journalist?

So, you’ve been eyeing that smart, attractive journalist you’re lucky enough to know personally. You’re intrigued. Your journalist is smart, funny, confident. 

I cant can blame you. Journalism is a sexy occupation.

A word of caution- journalists aren’t like bimbos men usually pick up at the bar. Nor are they the assholes the ladies continually fall for. No, journalists are different beings, and you should realize — before jumping in — that this isn’t going to be the same old boring, mushy, hopelessly romantic, lame relationship you’re used to.

Here’s what you should know:

 1) We can figure things out. Understand,it is our job to dig deep, find the secrets and see through bullshit. We can pick up on subtleties, so what you think you are hiding from us won’t be hidden for long. So if you are lying you are insulting us and wasting our time. Sure, we’ll act surprised when you eventually tell us — but we already knew.

 We don’t take shit from anyone. We spend all day separating fact from fiction, listening to PR cronies, angry cops, interviewing fake celebrities and dealing with slimy politicians. If you make us do the same with you, you’re just going to piss us off. And don’t think we’ll be quiet about it. We’ll respond with the vengeance of an Op-Ed page railing against society’s injustices — and we’ll enjoy doing it.

 Just tell us the truth. We can handle it.

 2) At some point, you will be a topic. Either through a feature story or an opinion column, something you do or say will be a subject. Consider it a compliment, even if we’re arguing against you in print.

 Think about it: we live our lives writing about life. If you’re a part of our life, we’re going to write about you, your thoughts or a subject springing from one of the two.

 Don’t be upset when an argument against your adoration of Rahul Gandhi turns up on page A4. We’re not directing the writing at you, personally — your ignorance was just our inspiration (there, doesn’t that make you feel better?).

 3) Yes, we know we’re smarter than you. Does that sound arrogant? Absolutely — but that confidence is what attracted you to us.

 We have a strong, working knowledge of how the world works. That makes us great in conversation. We can talk about anything and everything under the sun, delve into the intricacies of laws, local and national politics, where to find the good restaurants, what’s happening with pop culture, where the good bands are playing and more.

But there are pitfalls.

Guaranteed, when you say “towards,” we will automatically say “toward” — “towards” is not a word. We’re not trying to call you dumb, it’s habit. The same will happen when you say “anxious” when you mean “eager” and when you answer “good” when someone asks how you are doing.

 We carry ourselves with a certain arrogant air. Embrace it (that’s what attracted you to us in the first place, after all). Don’t be surprised if we’re not impressed when you say, “I’m a writer, too.” No, you are not. The fact that you sit in a coffee shop wearing black while scribbling in your journal does not make you a writer. Nor does the fact that you “wrote some poems in high school” or that one day you want to pen “the great American novel.” We’re paid to write. What’s more, our writing matters. It changes opinions, affects decisions and connects people with the world around them. We’re trying to fabricate an aura of creativity. We write about the real world — with real consequences.

 Our words go through three or four cranky and stubborn editors who make us rewrite before it’s printed and distributed all over town. You don’t do that unless you’re confident, even egotistical.

 You may have some great journal entries, poems and rudimentary short stories — good for you. Just don’t assume we’ll accept that as on par with what we do (unless you’re really hot, then hell, you’re a better writer than I).

 4) You’re not less important than the job — the job is just more important than anything else. One doesn’t become a journalist to sit in an office from 9 to 5 Monday through Friday.

 We do take our work home. If news is happening, we’ll drop whatever we’re doing — even if it’s with you — to cover it. We’re always looking for stories, so yes, we’ll stop on the street to write something down, interview a passer-by or gather information for a lead.

 On that same note, don’t get upset if you call us on deadline suggesting some romantic date and we say, “I’ve got to put the paper to bed first.” That could mean hours from now, but we’ll have plenty of time to put you in bed later.

 5) You won’t be disappointed. Journalists are intense, driven, passionate folk. We carry those same attributes into our relationships, making it an extremely fun. Our lives are never boring and each day is different.

If the pitfalls are scaring you away, consider this:

The fact that we’re inquisitive means we’ll listen to you. Even if it does seem like an interview, we’re paying attention to what you have to say (see rule No. 1).

We’ll write about you or your thoughts because you’re an important part of our life and we care about you (see rule No. 2).

Our brains are a great resource. Ever go on a date with an attractive person and wind up wishing you hadn’t because everything they say is just, well, stupid? That’s not going to happen here (see rule No. 3).

 Yes, it may seem that we put the job ahead of you, but we’re passionate and hard working. You’re not with that loser whose life is going nowhere and who’s completely content being mediocre (see rule No. 4).

There you go, five things you should know before dating a journalist. Feel free to add to the list, point out where I’ve missed something or leave a comment. And yes, gentlemen, I’m single (see rule No. 5).

This Is Why You're My Best Friend

We’re best friends because you get it. I’m not sure what that means  but whatever it is, you have it. I don’t need to explain anything to you or worry if you’ll get the joke. You already got it and are on your way to making the next one.

We’re best friends because you love me even when I’m terrible, sad and my most psychotic self (you are the only one who has seen that side of me). It’s easy to love someone when they’re doing well, it’s easy when there’s nothing but happiness. The real challenge comes when everything is crap. You’re not a fun person to be around, when you are a mess, shouting your lungs out and vowing to kill people. But you don’t care. Even when I want to just shut myself up, you’re still down to get a sandwich and french fries with me and talk about boys.

We’re best friends because you don't judge me. I can share anything with you and you will understand my reasoning. You understand my craziness when I fly off the handle. You pick me up after I fall (after you have had a good laugh). You are my anchor and I know I can rely on you even if the world has turned it's back on me. 

We’re best friends because you never make me uncomfortable. I have never felt unsure about you. That is a big thing, at least for me. You know I am not very sure about many things in my life. Many people have come in my life and gone, but not you. You stayed and I know you will always stay. You are the only constant and colorful part of my ever changing dark and moody world. I always know that you make sense and that this makes sense.

We’re best friends because we can go for long stretches of time without talking and it won’t damage the relationship. We always pick up where we left off. Surfaces changes mean nothing to us. 

We’re best friends because you don’t get resentful or jealous 

You’re my best friend because you’re not afraid disagree with me. I can’t get away with anything when I’m with you. You’ll tell me things that I need to hear but everyone else is too afraid to tell me. Your honesty is so refreshing albeit a bitter pill to swallow sometimes.

We’re best friends because you make feel less alone in this psycho, fake world. It’s amazing how often you can feel disconnected from people. It’s amazing how many people can betray you, or fail to understand the words that are coming out of your mouth. When I see you, it’s a burst of reassurance that I’m not the only who looks at the world this way. There’s someone else. And that someone is you.

The Masculine India

Asaram Bapu’s statement that the 23-year old woman who died after being gang-raped in Delhi last month was as much at fault as her offenders is shameful and has made way for competitive male chauvinism. Interestingly most of this chauvinism is coming from the political outfit which forever assures the safety and justice for women. These ludicrous, bordering on imbecilic, remarks by various political and social leaders across the country began after the death of Nirbhaya.

RSS leader Mohan Bhagwat started it all by blaming the western cultures for crime against women because according to him crime against women happen only in urban India and not Bharat ( read villages and forests). By voicing out these chauvinistic opinions he bought back the memory of Iran's Ayatollah Khomeini's attribution to "American crotch culture". But the cheery on the cake was when Bhagwat advised women, at another event, to follow the "social theory" of confining themselves to doing household chores and leaving the earning of money to their husbands.

Then we have Kailash Vijayverghia, minister in BJP ruled Madhya Pradesh. He has told women that if they crossed their limits they would be punished because Sita, one of the worst sufferers of the Hindu mythology, was abducted because she crossed the lakshman rekha. Even Sita wasn't spared.

 VHP leader Ashok Singhal and the Jamaat-e-Islami, both important organisations feeding communalism and fundamentalism, glorified on the virtues of virginity (that of women, who else?), the evil western culture, dignified clothing (for girls, of course) and the undesirability of co-education.

The "hallowed opinions" of Bhagwat, Singhal and Vijayvargiya have caused a lot of uproar, but are unsurprising. Brought up in a feudal and patriarchal society, they have deep-rooted prejudices and no desire to acknowledge the change society has undergone. Their mindset, authoritarian, masculine and mysogynistic, is so sunk in dogma. These people, as also the Jamaat, can’t be expected to think or talk better.

But what has left me stunned is a statement by Asaram Bapu, a popular religious figure operating out of Gujarat. This is his take on the rape of Nirbhaya:

“Only 5-6 people are not the culprits. The victim is as guilty as her rapists. She should have called the culprits brothers and begged them to stop. This could have saved her dignity and life. Can one hand clap? I don't think so.”

He said he disfavours harsh punishment for the rapists because he feels the law could be misused, as it is in the case of dowry harassment cases.

In one stroke, Asaram Bapu has become the symbol of all that is wrong with hollow Indian masculinity.He is not a male chauvinist. Perhaps a modern-day Ravan would be a more apt description. But then Ravan had some virtues too, didn't he?

In the smiling bearded visage of Asaram Bapu one sees the six faces that stared down on Nirbhaya on the night of December 16, 2012.