The Unforgettable Desire

Did the title to this post seem problematic to you? If not, then think again. It had hardly been a month in Delhi and my friends from school started calling me Dilli-wali. Unaware whether it was a compliment or a comment, I ignored it and tried to fight the depression I was going through in the first month of my college because I couldn’t accept the people I met. I barely knew anyone. I was homesick. And people at home, Odisha, called me Dilli-wali. The Delhites called me south Indian. And there I was lying in the bed of my tiny rented room, sharing it with two strangers who were quite contrary to me in nature, thinking about the tags that I have been given. With my under graduate days coming to an end, I am proud to say that I survived three years in Delhi. Not that it’s a bad city to be in, but it gets quite chaotic in one’s head when one comes from a small town. But then, when is the human mind at peace? In these three years I have wondered more than often, have I changed ...

When you have been in continuous physical pain for 6 months, watched House MD and related to every bit about pain that’s mentioned in it, thought about the meaninglessness and absurdity of your life and lost every hope to be happy again in such a world, then you definitely have stepped into the world of Pessimism. Given my history of blogging, people find me quite optimistic. My cancer and how I fought it had been my basic topic for years, making me seem brave. But well I am not as brave as they thought. I broke down the very moment when I couldn’t take the pain anymore and my optimism lost its way through that pain. So there I was, spending most of the day in my bed, trying to stay away from people as much as possible, avoiding calls and texts from friends. This friend that I am going to write about, he found me in 2011. The journey from being strangers to closest of friends was a short one, with lots of emotional ups and downs. We shared the common interest of writing and o...

In my first year, I was shocked by the attitude of the people in the ‘city of my dreams’. In my second year, I was shattered as my beautiful childhood seemed no more than a big lie. In my third year, I was devastated failing to accept the meaninglessness of life and the sorry state of the country I live in. If I am asked someday about my graduation, then I would speak the aforementioned lines to define it. These lines do not provide the beauty that Literature is assigned with; the beauty that can be seen and appreciated even by the non-literati. But here I am whining about the life literature gave me. More than often I have said to my friends that literature has the ability to ruin one’s life no matter how much s/he romanticizes it; the life in which one is happy obsessing about the self in the tiny bubble that s/he thinks to be the entire world. But am I really upset about it? After the result of my board examination was out, I went to my Dad and said that I wanted to pursu...

I was 14 when I was diagnosed with PRE-B-ACUTE LYMPHOBLASTIC LEUKEMIA at Christian Medical College and Hospital, Vellore. It was a hard time for my parents to manage a household in an unknown city where an unfamiliar tongue was in power where as I enjoyed all the luxuries of a private room in the pediatric ward. But then came my aunt with her one year old daughter, Anusha, to my parent’s rescue. She managed the household chores which mainly included preparing the dishes that I demanded, my Dad took care of the official paper work at the hospital and my Mom somehow managed to handle my tantrums in ward. Becoming a doctor was never my ambition, not even for the essay writing in school. But my stay in Vellore among all the doctors somehow inspired me to become one even though I sucked at biology.  I went back to school, chose biology as my main paper in high school and I am glad that I could at least get a first division in the board exam. By the end of my schooling, I knew very...

I don’t quite remember the days when I suffered from cancer. I ended up romanticizing them as they brought the greater Good to my life. If optimism was my weapon then, I am left weaponless now. In introspection, I have now come to believe that the only reason that I lasted the crucial period of my chemotherapy was because for the most part I had doctors, nurses, sick people and more sick people around me. What I mean to say here is that, I had no or very few Normal people who cared for me enough to give me a list of do(s) and don’t(s) or lectures about self care. When people ask, 'How are you?', they do not really want an answer. Well in my case, they simply seek for an opportunity to let me know how careless I am or have been. I feel bad that they use even an ounce of their energy to say things to me because by now I am skilled in the art of shutting my ears to people I don’t want to hear. People mean good, at the same time they mean nothing at all. The people I meet eve...

Love life without a high school romance seems incomplete, to me. Yes, my parents may not approve it but when I come to think of it, I think it is beautiful. Again, love is beautiful I have heard. I am not sure if I can say so for here I still wonder what love is every now and then. When I look back in past to the time when I was fifteen, a soft smile takes over my otherwise gloomy face. Even if I try, I cannot put myself in the shoes of my younger self. Things that now seem extremely silly, pointless and ‘cheesy’ once made perfect sense. In fact perfection had no other definition. The love songs of Taylor Swift, Akon, Enrique Iglesias, the Backstreet Boys, High School Musical were put on loop in my playlist not ignoring the hindi romantic songs like Tera hone laga hoon, tum mile, bin tere etc. Being the mediator in the then love lives of my friends, I wished for a story of my own. Trying to set one of my girl friends with one of my closest guy friends formed the base of my hi...

Every night when I am in pain I think of the hard yet cozy bed, That kept me company When I was a victim. ‘A Dreadful Disease’ they say I never felt that way. I was in pain then I am in pain now And I think of the place That others detest. If I could choose my dream Tonight I would see myself Sleeping on the same bed, so comfortable. No one wants me back there, No one knows how I feel. I want to travel back in the past Lay with drips in my hands Hear the unknown tongue See the familiar corridors, desks and faces I will know that I am going to be fine Among them I am safe Without them, haunts the fear Day break will wake me up Or the night will envelope my body. I wish to be with the Smiling faces who changed my sheets, Caring faces who medicated me. Never having to be lonely again I wish to wake up joyously. The pain doesn’t vanish there But it’s easier to deal with it. Smile comes naturally with the suffering Understand...

As I sit by the classroom window Barely listening to the voice so monotonous My thoughts drift from the yellowed pale walls to the vibrant green under the summer sun. Life's beautiful, yet harsh has been the reality. The shoulders now droop with responsibilities. 'Grown enough to handle the world as it is' -A lie that the fickle mind's been feeding me. Once comfortable walking in the crowd alone, strong and bold, now look for a hand to lead on. A fear of failure in the eyes that shone bright, the broad careless curve in the face is now the forgotten smile.

I look at the second hand bookstall and wonder where these yellowed pages went wrong that their owner gave them away. These books stacked against each other wait for a new master; I wonder how many mishandled them.  The dull cover, the yellowed pages, the wrinkled spine tell the tale of their loyalty and yet they have no home to be in. I wonder for how long they have been alone with their comrades at sale without the curious minds to unravel what they hold back.  Which are the latest entries and the oldest one in the pile? How long does it take to attract another pair of eyes with the brightness of the cover page lost? Who would want to smell the browning pages and know whose thoughts lie in there to be read?  I wonder if they have an inscription or some lines marked. Were they given up for a reason or couldn’t impress the buyer? Were the expectations much more or were they simply in wrong hands? Was Shakespeare too complicated for the brain that adapt...

Someday when you look beyond the beauty outside, you'll probably see me. Someday when you stop scanning the crowd, you'll probably find me. Someday when you try to listen to the lone voice, you'll probably hear me. Someday when you do not long for the physical touch, you'll probably feel me. Someday when you break free from the stereotypes, you'll probably understand me. Someday when  no one appeases you anymore, you'll probably choose me. Someday when the societal differences bother you, you'll probably look for me. Someday when your happy bubble bursts, you'll probably need me. Someday when you go against the convention, you'll probably walk with me. Someday when your soul finds no solace, you'll probably want me. Someday when you're hollow inside, you'll probably connect with me. Someday when you stand where I am now, you'll probably have me.

Amusing it is how we do not accept reality because our mind has woven lies and fantasies since the time we started understanding language. The good night tales, the fairy tales are the ones we are made to listen. The clichéd concept of good over evil forms the base of everything in our mind. We look for good endings, just like the ones where the fox is dead in the ‘Little Red Riding Hood’, where Cinderella finds her prince charming, where sleeping beauty wakes up and the witches always meet the bad end. Somehow these stories spoiled us. I am not saying good over evil isn’t true but aren’t the concepts of good and evil as delusional as that of day and night? As a kid more than often I wondered about getting married to the love of my life and have my happily ever after. What I did not know then was that there is no happily ever after. And love of my life? This is probably the biggest lie little girls grow up with. No, I am not heartbroken. But I still do not believe in it. Life is ...

How many people have lectured you to shut your laptop/smart phone for a while and go out and have fun? How many videos have you seen in last couple of years showing what we lose when we indulge ourselves in the virtual world? How many times have you felt that your childhood was awesome when you played hide and seek instead of Candy Crush or Subway Surfer or Flappy Birds? How many times did you see your siblings play FIFA ’14 and wonder that they won’t know how it feels to play in the dirt? How many acquaintances/so-called friends have asked you that why internet is so important? Why can’t you just go out and hang out with people? I am sure that the people of my age group have certainly come across these questions so many times that like me they do not bother to keep the count. I am an active person in the social networking sites. In my real life, I am tagged as a strictly boring person who wouldn’t get out of her virtual world. Yes, I am one of those who lives two different lives...

I was probably six or seven when I hawed for the first time listening to I LOVE YOU in my classroom. Love then was not a word for children of my age to use, or so I thought. I love you was for the grownups, who have boyfriends and girlfriends. Love was for movies. And my tender little mind weaved the late nineties and early twenties bollywood scenes featuring the love of my life and me. Unaware of the feeling, love still seemed familiar since forever. I was twelve when a couple of my girl friends and I would meet explicitly to discuss that kiss we saw in the movie, that intercourse which happened inside the sheets, those uncensored pictures in the internet and so on. Believe it or not, giggling was our new profession. Surprised by the boldness of my friends compared to the shy person that I was, I was intrigued by things they said which initially seemed gross but always gave me a tingling sensation. It wasn’t till another year when I was made aware of that thing called lust. ...

 “Promise is promise. Everything cannot be defined.” “Saying something to make the other person believe.” “Something in which you happily commit to do something no matter what happens.” “Words to provide a sense of trust.” "Something that's meant to be fulfilled." “Promise is something that is made to show love to someone.” And so replied a few of my close friends when I asked, what is a promise according to you? What is a promise according to me? It is a piece of crap that people feed each other when things start to screw up. NO. Not really. This is how I see the word being used around me. What is a promise according to me? Instead of using my own words, I would quote the best answer that I received in my little survey, “Something you should not go back on. And something you should be very miser about. Not to be made to anyone and everyone.”   [I am quoting this woman for the second time on my blog, I am sure she is happy about it.] This i...

The cut. The pain. The blood. The wind. The rain. The hurricane. The fury. The rage. The torture. The spite. The blame. The cavalier. The cry. The wail. The numbness. The mind. The trap. The lost. The mother. The friend. The helpless. The past. The present. The fidget. The eye. The fright. The emptiness. The foot. The step. The fallen. The wrath. The clutch. The chaser. The frail. The fleer. The chased. The grief. The loss. The misunderstood. The care. The effort. The apathy. The failure. The pity. The unworthy. The confusion. The fog. The darkness. The words. The soul. The solace. Image Source- Google

Fickle minded, thought she. Was it? Sometimes the answer is so obvious. Everyone sees it. And so did she. But she did not stop hovering over the question. Because the answer she got was the one she always dreaded. And she kept looking for the answer that suited her best. Then, she started living a lie. A lie, that camouflaged every second considering her mental state. Yes. Perhaps. Fickle minded after all. Stable, thought she. Was it? The lips aren’t excessively glossy. The eyes are not red and do not need the perfect shade to hide the puffiness. The dark circles did find their way to smudge with the skin without any shimmering beige. The blush was thrown away as the cheeks colored themselves with the natural shade of pink. The brow finely plucked with the hair let down. The laughter added the final tint to the face and the roving eye did not wander. For once, she stopped living the lie and embraced the truth which after all wasn’t as dreadful as she thought. Yes....

“Pyaar? Pyaar dosti hai. Agar wo meri sabse achi dost nahi hai to mai usse kabhi pyaar kar hi nahi sakta kyun ki dosti bina to pyaar hota hi nahi. Simple, pyaar dosti hai.” Born in the last decade of the twentieth century, I have actually grown up believing and learning this celebrated quote by heart from the coming of age romantic comedy Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. This movie is one of those few bollywood hits which I love beyond all the logics. There are flaws. I find a new one every time I sit down with my Dad to watch this movie. Apparently neither of us minds leaving work undone to watch this particular film. We make fun; we sing the songs together; we question each other on the contradiction the two halves of the movie make. We love the movie in the end anyway. A snapshot from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Image source- Google So why after 16 years am I showing my love for this movie? Because it taught me the basic necessity of being in a relationship which I see most of the re...

Laughter once shared; hands once held Roads once crossed; never twice came across. Eyes once talked; lips once brushed Serendipity once seemed; always a choice it had been. Heartbeats once rushed; touch once felt Darkness once comforted; never twice visited. Raindrops once jingled, mind once solaced Soul once damaged; always a mirage it had been. Coffee once spilled; books once read Words once spoken; never twice repeated. H appiness once felt; loneliness once accepted Smile once faked; always an escape it had been.

I am scared. Fear brings the best in you out, I have heard. The fear of losing people and the fear of taking second chances have been my greatest fears for a long while now. Friendship is my greatest weakness. Promise isn’t the word I fancy; I have issues with the concept that follows. Easier it is to deal with a damaged soul than the healing one. Pain is a feeling familiar, pleasure is hard to digest. Commitments I try to make not. Love I try to stay away from but once into it, I cannot pull away. Nothing changes my mind but I will take the bend in the road for someone I love way too much. Loving isn’t my forte, I do not know how to use it. My story isn’t about loving everyone; it is always about loving someone way too hard! Moving on I am slow at. There is everything and nothing I can do about it. If I could, I would stop and smile. The curve is easy to make, easier to fake. Taking risks, baiting my life to death is fun fo...

As I have been told over a long period of time, there is no cure for pancreatitis. And in my case, there is no reason for it to recur. Why I suffered from pancreatitis in the first place is explainable. The most important drug in the initial days of chemotherapy did not work out well for me and eventually led me to the infamous place between life and death. May be it sounds a bit too dramatic but then when it comes to me isn’t everything supposed to be dramatic? I am bad at memorizing dates but I think it has been 3 years since my chemotherapy sessions bid me goodbye but pancreatitis remains an uninvited familiar guest. And in last 6 years it has visited my body 10 times or may be more. I don’t really keep the score. No matter how bad the pancreatic ache is, it did a few good things to me. It made me resist the urge to gulp tablets for mild pain , no matter if it’s in the head or the whole body. If I can deal with the pain during pancreatitis without any medicine then I do no...