The Unforgettable Desire

My friend and I were walking towards The Arena when I told her, " You know... I get it that Hyderabad Public School is beautiful in terms of historical monument and it’s spacious... But, I am kind of glad that this is the location. Everything is clustered together so beautifully, this is perhaps the first time that I have been to everything or at least am aware what’s happening where. This school... it just feels so...” I trailed off, unable to find the word I was looking for. My friend smiled at me, “It just feels so warm, I know what you mean. I was a bit hesitant on the first day but everything feels so warm this time. It had never felt this way before.” “Yes, warm... Everywhere I look, there’s something hanging or built, there’s not a single wall that’s empty or even a tree. I am just so surprised every time I turn my head. Yeah... it’s just so warm, it...” This time I trailed off not wanting to say the words that were at the tip of my tongue. She completed it nonetheless,

'Ghalib' on his table. Laughter, her self defence. His small talks, her silence. Sitting on the edge, oh the distance! ~ The crowd walked past us. We stood there nowhere to go. Look at the moon, she exclaimed. I stared at her instead. It was full moon a couple of nights ago. My gaze shifted from her to the sky above. What do you mean by abandonment? I smiled, let out a sigh, and explained. I need you here, she said. And I need more time. It hurts a little less than yesterday, a little more than tomorrow. A pinch of faith in despair, hope in cynicism -- such is the clockwork. ~ A few leftover tears. Doors to the heart shut, keys tossed. It doesn't make any sense, she thought. It's not supposed to, comforted loss. Delhi, December '19. 

I am being hopeful despite my body and mind denying it. I am not full of hope all day everyday but I make it a point to be hopeful on and off in a few days whether or not I feel like it. This is me reminding my body and mind that things will get better while simultaneously acknowledging my past experiences. I am not blindly optimistic, I am cautious. Being hopeful tires me but I perform it like an exercise. Slowly, a little bit at a time. Letting my body and mind adjust to it, accept it, feel safe and secure with it. I often use ‘emotional archeology’ while talking to people who have been through trauma, recognise it, and are learning to deal with it. I have dug my memories, revisited them, over and over again. I have spoken with people who are a part of that memory in order to know their side of the story. If I believe my side to be the only one, I’ll perhaps never recover from the ugliness I fed on. So, when people tell me it helps me connect the dots of how one thing mig

I need you is a phrase that wakes me up early on a wintery morning and doesn’t let me return to sleep. I toss in bed, adjust the blankets. I tell the phrase, I’ll write about you in my diary once I am up. Now let me just go back to sleep. Let me just sleep. I was dreaming, mother was buying a set of bangles and they were mostly broken. She held two in her hand, told the shopkeeper that she’ll take them. I wondered, is this really important? One year ago I lacked the ability to get out of bed. I saw no point. I was convinced that I couldn’t serve anyone. More importantly, no one needed me. What was the purpose of waking up then? Why could I not sleep forever? No one needs me. No one understands that I need to be needed. There has to be a reason, something I wake up to, something I look forward to. I don’t recall most of it, the days were all the same and nights... nights were quiet. Everyone went to sleep and then, I was fine. I pull the blankets over my head. I cover my ears