Posted on

Let go

I sometimes look at you, and I think I have fallen out of love with you, at others, I just keep looking at you and then there are those moments when just a mere glimpse of yours brings back the vivid memories.

 I don’t know what is it that I hate the most about myself, the ability to love someone the way I do you, or the sheer pathetic-ness that I am not able to get over you, even when you have been so clear about your feelings for me.

I lose track, which one is real and which one is a figment of my imagination – me trying to have a platonic relationship with you after all the intimate moments we have shared, or the intimate moments we have shared post which we are just two individuals in a group of friends.

I used to think falling in love was easy, but it was staying in love that tested one’s mettle. Now, sadly, I know the bitter truth, it’s the falling out of love that’s the most challenging aspect. One look at me, and no one can tell that I have the ability to love someone as deeply and as uninhibitedly as I do you. I – the cut-throat, on the face, no shenanigans kind of person. I – who doesn’t think twice before speaking her mind out, I who am so superbly ambitious that I fail to imagine myself in a capacity surrounded by my kids, and it is this I who dreamt  of a life with you. It is this I that could envision waking up next to you for the rest of her life.

I still remember, it was my cousin’s wedding and all around everyone was dancing to the songs being played: a very traditional big fat Indian wedding. And there amidst everybody, I got lost in your thoughts, just imagining how well you would gel with my family, how you would tease my Grand mom and how you would dance with my Mom. I could just see you right in front of my eyes dancing with them.

I don’t know where we went wrong, I sure do know that we did go wrong, just don’t know where. As kids we were taught: “birds of a feather flock together”. We are birds of a feather, but perhaps that quote does not apply to life partners.

We are probably the only people we know, who could not last because they were “too similar to one another”. It’s so ironic and yet so true.

Perhaps in another life or in another parallel universe (since you are a big time believer of parallel universes), we are slightly more different from one another, and also, since I am wishing for things, maybe we are a bit more matured too.

How important “letting go” is, is what this fiasco taught me, had I let go off the small mistakes you did, had I let go off the fact when you refused to understand me, had I let go off my ego, or for that matter, if only, could I let go off you now…

Posted on

Would have, Could have, Should have

Remember the Maha-ashthami we landed in Kolkata?

How the City of Joy’s Happiness knew no bound?

How I was explaining everything to you right from the themed pandals to the feeling of Pujo?

“Why is Pujo not just a Hindu festival here, like it is in the rest of the country?” you asked.

How we walked around Maddock’s Square and then went to the old lost world of North Kolkata?

The “old style” Pujo of BagBazar, oh!  how we devoured it!

How romantic was Ahiritola!?

Ooh, wasn’t the ferry ride amazing?

 The fresh crisp air of October brushing against our cheeks and messing our hair. Remember how both of us felt a bit nippy then on the ferry?

How we leaned in ever so slightly towards each other, just when the Ferrywala called us?

Remember the walk under the soft lights of Princep Ghat?

Remember the Chelo Kebab we had later for dinner?

Remember the room we had rented in Jadavpur ad how angry the housekeeper was for tending to guests on Ashthami?

Remember all that…No?

Probably because this is what is meant by would have, could have, should have…

Posted on

Motherhood…

Motherhood-probably the strongest word to define a woman unquestionably. What is questionable though is that why it should be this one word that is deemed as the strongest word for the definition of the complex word that is a WOMAN. For centuries we have been told that a woman can never feel as complete as she ought to unless she becomes a mother. We are not challenging the word or its importance, or the fact that the kind of love that a child deserves can be given only by their mother. What we are questioning though that if motherhood is indeed the strongest word for a woman, why is not that “fatherhood” not the strongest word to define a man.

We fight about gender equality, women across all levels of the society and the world should feel empowered and should make their presence felt, why do we not talk about the gender disparity when it comes to parenting, why is it till this very date considered that the way a mother has an obligation towards her child, a father does not have. Is it just because the womb is the mother’s? is it because it’s the mother who undergoes the tremendous pressure of pregnancy and child birth, is it because it’s the mother who lactates, as if these are not enough, not to mention the bodily changes and the post-partum depression, she should feel and additional obligation towards the child too? As if the entire job of the father is done with one “YES!!” and then providing for the family and coming back from office and playing for a couple of hours. Don’t get me wrong I am not saying that this is the case everywhere, but yes, sadly this is the case in majority of the parenthood journey that a couple decides to take together.

The other day a very highly qualified and professionally successful woman told me about the time she decided to join office after her maternity leave, how everyone in her family kept on implying that she should be extending her maternity leave even if it means leave without pay, as they were financially well off. She did not resent the comments, rather she seemed to think that the comments were justified as she felt that a child inherently feels closer to the mother, that the child looks for the mother in every little step that they take, in every little thing that they do, and she does not want to miss on any of those small things. I completely agree, the little moments should not be missed as everything will come and go but you can never see your child grow up again. But what I disagree with is that it all comes down to the mother because of biology. A child should and will feel comfortable around their father too if the father is around as much as the mother is around. But this again is a personal choice and while I hear people say all the time that all of these choices and decision that the mother makes, is for the parents to decide, what I do not get is where does this sense of personal space and respect for it go when somebody decides to go “against nature”.

I was in the coffee shop when I overheard a heated discussion on the table next to me. The conversation piqued my interest and there was one woman vehemently arguing against a man while two men were sitting watching but not volunteering in the conversation. The discussion was about motherhood and how this particular woman in question had the audacity to say out loud that motherhood is something she hopes never to achieve, that she did not like kids and found them to be an unnecessary burden on her. Now, I know that the thoughts are pretty radical when you consider the general statistics but what was more surprising was that how this man who she was arguing with just kept on insisting that he found her ideas utterly insane….that how can she being a woman find kids to be not worth the effort. And with all these statements, I remembered the TV Show “Big Bang Theory”, how Sheldon (the lead protagonist) would often call out to so many women, being a slave to their biological need to reproduce. How often have I seen so many people laugh at that dialogue: rather at the lack of emotional quotient portrayed by that dialogue. And here, still we are arguing about the same thing, and don’t find it ridiculous when we convey the same message.

While I do understand and appreciate the concept of motherhood, what I do also understand is the concept of individualism, and I feel that a woman has as much right to choose what she wants of her life as has a man. And parenthood is a decision that should be decided by the partners involved, and not by the societal pressure and expectations!

Posted on

Forever Yours

A cup of strong coffee, early morning sunshine and with all the time in the world, I sit down to write you this letter. I wonder, if writing it on paper would have made more sense. Not sense, rather would it have made it more personal. I thought I will give you a clean, scribble free version of the letter, but aren’t the scribbles an integral part of what I am…rather what we are together? And will I lose the essence of this letter and in turn lose the essence of “us” without the scribbles? Anyways, now that I have chosen this version lets go ahead with it.

We have a lifetime ahead of us to make mistakes or rather make up for them. Oh no, sorry, we don’t have a lifetime….and that is why I am writing this….to end it. It’s strange, how something that till the other day seemed like a part of me and my life…today I am letting it go. No, I don’t have closure and I don’t think I ever will. I don’t think closure is a valid concept. It sounds good, something like Disneyland. Looks good, sounds good, and while you are at it feels good…but isn’t true. You have to stop being delusional and get real and deal with the pain. Me? I haven’t started dealing with the pain yet. I am still in the phase wherein I am accepting the truth or rather the lie…the lie that was “us”.

It’s funny how you said that I always have an answer ready at the tip of my tongue, whenever we used to fight, because now, I am running out of words. I don’t know where to begin a letter that marks the ending of an era. An ERA…that’s how long we lasted. Well, not geologically speaking of course, but given our current ages, yes, we lasted an era. We lasted more than most marriages do nowadays-such a cliched statement right? So yes, the letter to mark the beginning of the ending I think should be started from the beginning.

My first memory of you: really no such memories- you did not exist for me. The first time I remember seeing you- a black crew necked tee shirt and a pair of jeans, didn’t give you a second glance, didn’t even remember your name after that brief “hi”. The second meeting though I remember vividly. I remember how I was so high that I held the cigarette in the opposite direction- as in I was about to smoke the cigarette not from the butt but from the burning end. How you held my wrist at the last moment. How I was surprised by your action and how it took me a few moments to understand what was going on and when I did how I exclaimed. I remember the first time you came to my place. How I had nothing to do on the eve of a long weekend. How you self-invited yourself. How much I was happy with that action of yours. How much I was surprised by that action of yours-me being the overtly analytical one could never have found the courage to do that, and until that moment of self-invitation I was cringing inside thinking about the impending long weekend. How you made me look forward to it.

I remember the night you came before your long trip. You would be gone for two weeks, and you came to say bye. I remember the long conversation we had that evening sitting in the patio. I remember how I told you my darkest secret, how you checked if tears were streaming down my eyes while I was confiding them to you. How I told you that I have grown past that, that all that remains are just haunting memories and social awkwardness in certain situations.

I remember the first time you spent the entire night at my place-you had just returned from that long trip of yours, how you hugged me so tight that my ribs crashed to my lungs how I stopped breathing and started living at that exact moment. How you pulled me to you on the couch-how I banged my foot on the table while you did that, how I limped the next day. Yes…and entire day that’s how long it took for the adrenaline to go away for me to finally realise that I had hurt my foot.

I remember the huge collection of turtlenecks I bought over the course of the next few weeks to prevent awkward questions and sly glances of our colleagues.

I remember so many things and yet I don’t remember how and when we got here. How did the long conversations get replaced by suffocating silences. How the weekend trips changed to each sitting in our respective apartment with a few WhatsApp pings over a period of two days. When we started making plans no longer involving each other, when we realised that we were incapable of being together in the same room peacefully for more than a few minutes without the presence of others, when we stopped being enough for the two of us and started looking for others to share our time with. I remember these too…I just don’t remember when and how it started.

I remember the day you chose your mother over me, but then maybe it was wrong of me to force you make that choice. I was so devastated that day. While you were saying those words, I could feel the walls crashing around me like they show in the movies. And I could not even cry. I was frozen mentally. I don’t remember a single thing I did that day post that conversation. I am sure I must not have done something very strange else you would have told me…I guess whatever I did for the remainder part of the day that day was due to muscle memory. In retrospect though, I am thankful to you for your decision that day. I started seeing things so much more clearly then onwards. I could prioritise without feeling guilty, because that conversation cleared the air for me-about my place in your life. Hold on. No. That wasn’t the conversation that cleared the air. That conversation just jolted me out of my slumber.

From your end, you were always clear. Right on the day that you first woke up next to me. While we were still in bed and you told me “I wish you were a Hindu…I am an atheist…but my mom is deeply religious.” I should have understood back then. You were not dropping a hint but saying things in plain black and white, me on the other hand interpreted it as you desiring to have a whole lifetime with me right after spending a night with me irrespective of the “constraints”.

I once read that the sandcastles glow at night because the sand holds the memories people mix on the beaches, so yes, one of these days maybe, all these memories I have of you, will make a sandcastle glow brilliantly. Until then, forever yours.

 

Image courtesy: https://www.google.com/urlsa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fdribbble.com%2Fshots%2F608581-forever-yours&psig=AOvVaw1Y0C_0BASIY7ybuY2a2asT&ust=1587545410145000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCKDX18qS-egCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAE

Posted on

PARANOIA

Do you know the reason why humans are called as social animals? I mean, if you come to think of it, isn’t it pretty ironic that while everything under the sun and the moon has a specific collective noun assigned to them-say a herd of cattle or a bouquet of flowers, there exists no such unique collective noun as far as humans are concerned. And still, its us humans who are the “social beings”. While evolution has benefited us in many ways, the one thing in which we lag behind all the other living or non-living things is the ability to survive alone.

Over a period of time, generation after generation we have been told and made to believe that we always need someone to have our back. Because, we can go to the Moon and to the Mars but we can’t have our own backs. This thought has been so deeply rooted into our brains that being a loner is not considered healthy. Say you have a brilliant, beautiful kid who is perfect and happy but somehow is not able to make friends. It’s this tiny thing that will be flagged every time you go for a PTA. Because, again, we are social animals living in a society in which the parameters of being normal are again set by the society.

What is this incessant obsession with not being left alone? Isn’t this unhealthy too? Why do we have to prove for the sake of proving that we are normal and hence have people in our lives even if the presence of those very people in our lives is the cause of all our life’s misery? Why are we so scared of being left alone that we would rather be scarred for the rest of our lives each day, every day than be spending it by ourselves? Why do we not have the courage to end something which is toxic to our very existence just because we don’t want the tag of the “loner”?

Day after day after day, night after night waiting for the person at the other end to love you back as hopelessly as you love him/her and each such day proving to be more disappointing than the previous one, till a point reaches where you start questioning your own worth, are you not fit enough to be loved? Is it you who is somehow in the wrong? Is it you who is a fool to love someone the way you do? All these and many more creating a tornado of thoughts into your mind, while you hopelessly have your one eye glued to the screen of your phone, miserably waiting for that one phone call, or that one text. Is so much of self-depreciation worth the effort just to avoid being left alone?

Has it never happened to you that you fought with your partner and in doing so you have wanted to say and shout a zillion things, that you typed the long messages and then backspaced all the way through just because you were scared that either he/she will not even bother to respond to it, or they will leave you-alone?

If the answer is yes, then all the evolution and the technological progress that we as humans have made, even worth it, if our ultimate failure is that of surviving alone? Because darling, even a gerbera can stand alone-tall and beautiful, can’t you?

Posted on

WISH

That’s the thing about love. It can heal you while tearing you apart. It can shatter you into a million pieces whilst all the while your heart thumping against your chest yearning for than one individual. And, if you are lucky, then the person at the other end is feeling equally helplessly powerful.

Sadly though, that was not the case with Sutirtho. Night after night he would wait for that one call, one message from Neeta. The one message that would convince him that all was not lost, that she was still his. Alas, that never happened.

There was nothing different about that morning. It was as hot and humid as any of the other June mornings in Kolkata and in an effort to compensate for the unusually heavy consumption of electricity, CESC had decided that the City of Joy’s residents will not be getting any sleep since the wee hours of the morning. Sutirtho and Neeta had been going strong for more than a decade as of this particular morning. Theirs was one of the few college romances that continued outside the college football grounds and library walls. It had survived many hindrances, distance being the least of them.  They had stayed in diametrically opposite eds of the world for five long years, defied their parents when they pointed out the cultural differences (Neeta being catholic and Sutirtho a brahmin) and has served as an example to their juniors in college and colleagues in their work life.

But recently, Sutirtho had started to see some changes, tiny nuances one might say. The changes were subtle, fingers could not be pointed to them, they were almost imperceptible, but it was as always-the little things gave her away. Her responses, when he tried reaching out to her- she had somehow acquired the art of being cold and distant to him, to HIM! The usually talkative, lively Neeta would now cite excuses of a headache after a few minutes of a phone call. There would be so many things that Sutirtho would be dying to tell her, but all he could manage to say was “take rest”. At times she would disconnect the calls, and not call back. Sutirtho could see the two tiny blue ticks on his messages, would be continuously online hoping to get a reply but all in vain. Sutirtho had too much going in his own life, both his parents were bedridden. His mother had been diagnosed with cancer and wasn’t expected to last the year as was his father. Yet, none of this mattered to Neeta.

This morning however, she did not receive the call. He tried a couple of times which was as fruitless as his first attempt. After a couple of times, he let go thinking she would probably be busy and would get back to him later, but the “later” never happened.

By the end of the day Sutirtho was at his wits end. He started imagining all kinds of scenarios, checked his whatsapp- she was online. She was online and still did not bother to reply to his 109 missed calls! What was wrong, what was she not telling. It could not be the long distance relationship, they had been surviving it for the past few years now. Out of their decade long relationship, they had cohabited the same city only for seventeen months post-college. He was trying to be everything that a good partner ought to be- loving, understanding, caring, not too demanding…but nothing seemed to work its magic on Neeta. But today, today she had crossed all limits. Today he decided to give up. He was tired of reaching out to her over the past few months. He texted her that he had something important to tell her. She called back the next day. The time frame itself was something that was unimaginable to him. How could a person change so much over such a short period of time was something that was still unfathomable to him. Did she not care about him at all?

Over the call Sutirtho told her that he had reached his limit and that her indifference towards him was more than just hurting him, it was making him doubt himself and his love for her That he could not take more sleepless nights all the while staring at his mobile screen and hoping against hope that her name would pop up. That although it took some time for him to understand, he did realize that she had moved on with her life and so should he. She seemed very unperturbed and calm, as if she wanted him to say all these things all this while. She did not even counter the allegations she was charged with. On the contrary she seemed a teensy bit relieved.

Sutirtho could not believe his ears when she agreed to them parting ways. Did he not know this Neeta at all? Had the last ten years been a sham? He lost his cool and raised his voice, a thing that he had never done with her over the last ten years, yet she was quiet- as silent as the setting sun in the distant horizon.

Years passed, and the incident receded into the background. Sutirtho lost his parents, his brother went abroad and settled there, and being left alone, the loneliness gnawing him, he finally found the courage needed to fall in love again. On his wedding day, his aunt came to bless him and muttered under her breath “ thank God your mother could free you from the clutches of  that Catholic girl. It was her dying wish to her that she should get away from your life. As you were not complying, she had to approach her. Your mother’s spirit must be very happy today.”

 

Image courtesy: https://unsplash.com/search/photos/wish

Posted on

Enigma

Can love have the ability to tear you apart? Can it be so over-compelling that you forget everything and everybody, and if so, is it still called love?

Is it not possible that you have fallen in love more than once, with more than one person, and what attracted you in each of them are a set of completely different qualities antithetical to one another? Have you ever paused to think that your situation or station in life determines your likes and dislikes? Say if you have been living in a stifling environment for a quite a considerable period of time, maybe an extremely open and relaxed companion is what you would seek. On the other hand, if you have had the opportunity to be with someone, who lets you be, who doesn’t mind being in the backseat, doesn’t complain, but isn’t proactive either, you might get attracted to someone who takes the lead, because although you may love to drive, sometimes, just sometimes, isn’t it relaxing to be the co-passenger and change the songs and enjoy the view while you let someone else drive?

Being with a person, changes you, however imperceptibly, it does-the tiny nuances in you and your behavior, its like erosion-happens over a period of time without you realizing it.

So, right in the beginning, pause and think for a moment, does it feel comfortable waking up next to your partner or are you worried about the corner of your eyes and your not so minty fresh breath? In the dead of the night does your partner pull you up close and wraps up your entire existence within their arms or is it just the comfort of the comforter that they seek on a crispy winter night?

The instant they start undressing you, do you get lost in the moment or are you worried about the underbelly fat? And no, I am not talking about an “old” relationship here, do these thoughts bug you in the very beginning of your new found love is what you need to ask yourself.

Every once in a while we may end  up committing the folly of getting attracted to someone who you may think is THE ONE, and it could be, but ask yourself these questions and think of the compromises that you are signing up for if the answers are not what you are seeking.

I know each one of us feels like we have been through a lot and still, we put  ourselves out there as we are always ready for more. The subconscious of the human brain is a dangerous thing, it makes you do the unthinkable, attain the unattainable and beat the unbeatable, the question however one needs to ask is, is it worth the extra mile?

I know that we live in a society where we can try out a zillion shirts before investing in one but the same principle does not hold good for the single most important decision of our lives. We are all scared how we will be labeled by the society. But do it nevertheless because its like the captain of the Indian cricket team trying out a new strategy, you lose you are reckless and winning makes you innovative, in the end all it takes is one good win for people to change their perspective.

Once you start trying out you will be amazed to find that going to bed with someone is far easier than waking up next to them in the morning when there’s no darkness to mask those tiny wrinkles of your being.

So do yourself a favor, next time you put on that cherry lipstick on that bright face of yours,or that hair gel to mask the receding hairline, before you put on that black dress that flaunts the number of hours you have worked out in the gym or the tuxedo to bring out the best groomed part of yours, stop, look at yourself in the mirror at that un-made up look of yours-the way your are the moment you open your eyes in the morning and ask yourself are you ready to show this side  of yours to your partner because everyday of your life will not be a fancy Michelin star restaurant, there will be those days of the chai stall by the road while the sky is pouring.

Take a step back, take a deep breath for none of the million stars shining inn the sky matter if the ones in your eyes don’t.

 

Pic courtesy: https://www.toppenafdanmark.com/ln-int/toppenafdanmark/stars-sky-top-denmark

Posted on

The “Gift” of choice

If life gave you an option – to die half today and the other half of you can live for as long as you live, or to die an atom everyday for as long as you live, what would you choose? Is this a game you will be willing to play given the various uncertain parameters?
Okay, I will make it easier for you what if it wasn’t your life but someone you knew and cared about, and the only penalty that you would have to face is that you will have to be a silent spectator no matter whatever the consequences be. Will your decision still be the same or would you rather that it be your life to gamble than a person you so deeply care about.
Sometimes, being a silent spectator, dying of guilt each living moment if the outcome is not what you had hoped for, is a far tougher deal to handle compared to a rough ride knowing that you are the driver and hence the path was chosen by you. When thought about a little more deeply , it’s a very simple calculation, all of us as human beings are very scared of losing people we care about and love. We are not so much scared of dying ourselves, but the fear of being left behind is far greater.
But coming back to the original question: what would YOU have chosen – to kill half of you at one go or to die an atom a day?
When she was given this choice, she did not know the road ahead of her, what life had in store for her. The one thing she did know though was what it felt like to die an atom a day-how traumatizing losing that one atom could be and she knew herself well enough to know that she was not constituted to deal with such harsh situations. That, it always took a toll on her and not only her, but also people around her whom she loved and cared for.
She could either choose to be with the man she loved, accept all his baggage and let go off her parents. She knew her parents well enough to know that they will never accept him for what he was. Or she could choose to let go off him and his baggage and be with a man whom her parents deemed to be more suitable.
She had once read somewhere how the Russians used to torture their captives during the cold war era: they would push a piece of cloth down the captive’s throat. This cloth would have been soaked in vodka for quite a few months. They would leave the captive with the piece of cloth pushed down his throat in that condition. The vodka would corrode the esophagus, and the captive would die a very painful slow death. That’s one of the reasons that the soldiers during that era would always be carrying a vial of cyanide which they would take immediately upon arrest. A short painless death, your last moment on earth lasting only moments but not slow painful weeks. She analysed her situation and decided to take the cyanide. She would kill half of herself at one go. She will not die an atom a day. She loved him, but his baggage were too heavy for her to carry. Add to that the pain of letting go off her parents, that was something that neither her parents nor she, could survive. Every moment of her life, she would eventually grow to be bitter towards him, for she would hold him responsible for her detachment with her parents while he could live happily with his’.Every single day his mother would look at her choice of cloth, profession, words, mannerism disapprovingly, she would be bitter towards him while fully understanding that there was only so much he could protest. Every time, she would want to share something personal with him but wouldn’t be able to because of the presence of his parents and would have to wait for night to arrive and the privacy of their room, she would feel asphyxiated.
And so she decided, she will die one half, but the other half of her will be living freely for the rest of her life, and who knows maybe one day that other half will grow, just as a liver does, and will complete her.
What do you consider as dying an atom depends on you, but when it’s a commitment of a lifetime, you should be sure of your capabilities. For many dying an atom a day could mean to live day in and day out with a person they don’t love. And this is exactly where you have to analyse what you can put up with the rest of your life. How much you can change and more importantly maintain that change for the rest of your days to come. How much are YOU willing to let go and how much are YOU willing to take. Can love surpass everything? Some would say yes….but she knew that for her it could not. She did not like her wings to be clipped, she was made to fly- her parents taught her to fly, and she could not leave them behind and fly on her own.

Picture courtesy: https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwj6o_v224bgAhUHYo8KHe9hDMoQjRx6BAgBEAU&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.caut.ca%2Fbulletin%2F2018%2F09%2Fshattering-myths-about-contract-academic-staff&psig=AOvVaw3bWaCG3SyhHGDdeyWsiSDU&ust=1548429522582605

Posted on

Shushhhh Girl!

Do you remember the first time someone touched you? Does it bring a smile on your face? If no, then fear not-it’s more common than you think. Sadly, yours is not an exceptional case. However, had your first encounter with your sexuality been a happy memory…now that would have been something quite exceptional!
So, coming back to my original question, does it bring a smile on your face? Was it some random stranger on the bus or the train standing behind you or sitting next to you? Someone who kept on elbowing your breasts till they were sore? Or was it someone you knew-maybe someone in the family-someone whom you had known since your birth, someone against whom you felt you could not raise your voice, whom your parents trusted, who was like a father to you up until that moment.
That silent afternoon of one summer vacation, everyone enjoying the lazy afternoon siesta, you enjoying a book by you favorite author-Enid Blyton in his room-on the couch to be precise, his wife-your aunt- right there sleeping like everybody else. This precise moment he suddenly turns to you and says he is having a very bad headache, and you could maybe just run your fingers through his hair to relieve him off the pain, but you are caught up in the world of Malory Towers and you say you are not up for it. With his wife there-right there in the room he suddenly comes to the the couch you are sitting on and says maybe he can give you a massage. You are in a very interesting place in the book-in the middle of a pyjama party in the middle of the might and the warden of Malory Towers must not find out what the girls were up to, you don’t even bother replying to him.
At that moment he gropes your budding breasts. This is a mistake!! This cannot be happening!! It’s insanely crazy…his wife is right there…he is your uncle…your mother’s brother whose daughter celebrates her birthday exactly six months ahead of you. You freeze. Not the wisest thing to do..or maybe it is…at least it fuzzes the brain from processing the pain right then and right there…the scar’s going to remain anyways for the rest for you life. You freezing helps him too…he need not actually ask you to be quiet. His hands move south-right down to your pink bloomers…they don’t stop there…they travel in…that’s when you realize he has very thick fingers. You sit there motionless, eyes tightly shut, trying to comprehend what hell broke loose, hoping against hope that its just a very bad dream and that maybe you open your eyes and it will all be gone.
Finally his wife turns in her sleep and he moves to check on her. Flight or fight, fight in this case wasn’t an option as the battle was already lost, flight is what you chose.
You run to your mother-but then what do you say? “Uncle put his hand in my pants” doesn’t sound convincing in your nine year old brain…even the though of that sentence makes you feel sick, maybe you need to throw up, maybe you did throw up that afternoon you just don’t remember because its all so fuzzy. All you remember is that you tried to avoid him and continue to avoid him for the rest of your life. That he has tainted the memory of your summer vacations-even the one’s you had after that fateful one.
Twenty years later, when his daughter is getting married you still look at him and think what came over him that day-those minutes (of course it still feels like the ordeal went on for hours). Out of the zillion memories you have of your childhood, this one memory stays with you for the rest of your life.
But then again, don’t worry, you are not the first and you definitely are not the last one to face it and more so to shush up about it….
Picture courtesy: https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjb7crV2obgAhUIMo8KHU9-BqEQjRx6BAgBEAU&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Firishbells%2F2936572812&psig=AOvVaw0rvhty-Fsr185B7H_WQeIP&ust=1548429215260138

Posted on

Regret

On a rainy afternoon, when she could find time for herself out of her busy schedule to introspect her own life, she would often imagine herself in a parallel universe. One in which she would still be active on all the social networking sites. One which would say “works at” and not “worked at”. One that would say lives in India rather than lives in Scotland. For it was to avoid these tiny nuances that she went into her cocoon.
How wrong the entire world was when they thought that she was living a life straight out of a Cinderella book: from cinders to prince. A life many would die for, but a life that was killing her.
It was during these teeny tiny sessions of introspection that the self realization would dawn on her- nobody was to be blamed, for it was her own doing. From her long experience with her academic life, she had come to the conclusion that during one’s entire course of academic life, one had to work hard only once and for the rest of their lives things would fall into place.
What she had failed to understand was that the same principle was applicable in real life too.Once- just once, believe in something or somebody and fight for the cause. Once use the right part of the brain instead of the logical left one. And although it may be possible that you are left with nothing at the end of the day, at least regret won’t be encompassed within that great void of nothingness.
It was always a tug of war whenever her father opposed to anything- it could be her choice of career, friends, words to be used in certain situations: anything and everything or nothing at all, but the tug of war remained.
So when she met him – whom she wanted and who she believed wanted her, with whom the fight was as passionate as the makeup kiss, whom she could hold and wrap her entire existence in her arms that held him close, at whom she would be so exasperated at the tiniest of things but would melt at the first hint of that bright smile of his-she knew it was going to be the toughest tug of war of her life.
There were only two options with her- be with the man she could love like crazy and fight with madly but with a father shaped huge dark void in her life or with a shell of a life with all the worldly comforts that her parents and the man her parents chose for her could afford. She chose the latter,not because she loved him any less than she loved her father. Because in that immature frame of mind that she had a decade back, it seemed to be the easier option. And who knew, maybe what her parents thought was best for her could indeed turn out to be the best for her. Maybe one day she would see him on the streets of an unknown city walk by- his usual careless self without a shred of worry on those shoulders of his and maybe when their eyes lock each others they would just share a smile, the memory of which would last them the rest of their lives.
What she had not anticipated then was that it was not that one chance meeting’s smile that she should worry about but the countless smiles that have already been passed. What she hadn’t anticipated was that everybody she sees on the streets with their partners would make her walk through her memory lanes. That every time she would hear someone laugh loudly, she would turn hoping against hope to find him. That every time a Chester song was played she would imagine him strumming an imaginary guitar. Who knew, maybe the guitar today was a reality unlike her could-be-life.
It was on days like these that she would imagine herself in a room on the lap of a mountain with her entire existence wrapped around him and let out a huge sigh.

Picture Courtesy: https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjyusPw2YbgAhUSinAKHfDeBT4QjRx6BAgBEAU&url=https%3A%2F%2Fhowtobeastoic.wordpress.com%2F2017%2F07%2F28%2Fstoic-advice-i-decided-for-the-wrong-surgery-now-i-regret-it%2F&psig=AOvVaw2iaYH8PWqTguDTt-II04rR&ust=1548429036293143