skip to main |
skip to sidebar
As if it was yesterday when I was sheepishly eyeing you surrounded by a swarm, and looked away every time you glanced at me. You were my dear friend with whom I shared god knows how many sitcoms and action movie and never faltered to mock you every time you tripped or mispronounced a word. Things were certainly pleasant then, when you were a friend. What on earth happened, and the dynamics of our relationship changed? Who knew that a time had come when mere mention of your name, painted my cheeks apple red or your one look caused numbness in me and melt my tissues and cells?
I was well off with one sided feelings, although was baffled by the change of emotions. I tried to coax me by blaming PMS, unemployment, sex starvation, absconding father and pretty deprived childhood; but my disillusion never matched these parameters, as it was beyond any logic or definition. I analyzed to the core and decided that I need a friend in you, as this is the way it should have been. The Holy Father above didn’t agree with my arrangements as I was truly undoing the fate, he fixed for me.
As if it was some nano seconds before that I had my eyes close and lips sewn to yours. I fought my destiny by tearing myself apart from your arms, and proceed to the door but my hands on the door knob froze, when you touched them. You drew me closer and buried my head in your chest assuring to never let me go. I shivered in your warmth as fear of losing you crept in and your lips hushed mine telling me, you are for real.
Few light years away, I stand with an empty hand and your face is nothing but a blur. Now, when I touch my bald patch I don’t remember your fingers detangling my hair, nor I remember you teasing on my third slice of pizza while I pop in an antacid. A blur is a blur it has no face value like the mighty zero, and I am afraid I have forgotten the dimple on your right cheek. I do not get startled when I hear mom calling their kids who share their names with you. How outrageous and ridiculous it may sound but I don’t make a wish for your well being every time a lash lands on my palm.
As if it was an era back, that we were born in two different place and lived for 20 odd years, without any scarce idea of a heartbreak we would suffer from and will suspend in that void perpetually. Yes it was yesterday when you said hello and the ghost from the past came dashing to haunt me once again.
Few days back I came across a blog post by a young lady, expressing her dilemma of being a woman and asking random readers if writing can justify the woman inside her. I found a comradeship between us as I have always been disillusioned by my entity and believe me, writing doesn't help; rather it confuses me more. I didn't start this blog because I wanted an audience or I wanted to be a part of this new world of networking, but I desired to reach out to few people who are connected to me unknowingly. I don't know them yet, and they do not have slightest idea about my existence.
Though I have always been a typical dreamy and out of vogue kind of creature who believed in love, loss, reunions, soul connections and telepathy, but after reading Coelho’s Brida I have turned into a complete bohemian. My whimsical self has absorbed the essence of Coelho’s theory of life, soul bonding, spiritual world and an omnipotent. Mere thought of 'I' behaving the real self petrifies to the core as the revelation might mar my life on earth, so after a great deal of introspection I choose to become none, I choose to become what my fellow dwellers on this dowdy and mundane world are.
I am indeed a chameleon living layers of life, trying to keep each layer alive so that my true worth doesn't get lost in the oblivion. I pick this blog to keep my insanity going, it makes me happy to reach out to those who are a fragment of me, who would react to my written expressions in a way as I do when I read them. Do not know who they are, where they are or how messed up life they lead, but I would strike a chord in their heart and make my presence felt every time they will pass by. Ananyaism is nothing but being you, not a man or a woman, black, white or brown. It is definitely not about proving yourselves, or joining a rat race of acquiring financial gains or any kind of worldly recognition. It is about the whimsical you, who is an unacceptable, untouchable, hated mortal in this wise world of money, sex and material. Ananyaism hates to judge you; it hates the one sitting pretty wearing a Kenneth Cole ensemble behind your systems, trying hard to be one of those rats.
I want to meet my other halves who do have their own Xanadus, who can allow me to visit their grotto and be my guest when feeling beaten by this world. I cry out loud, and extend my hand towards my soul-mates of different lives; I want to re unite with you all. I want to keep myself alive for you.
