The Key

The subtle curve of her waist, the softness of her hair, the sparkle of her eyes and the music of laughter, they kept me awake for a long, long time. Day after day, night after night. Her idea of love was magic. My idea of love was her. She wanted to spread her wings and fly towards an eternity of bliss. My eternity started from her.

You must be thinking if I loved her so much why did I let her go? Why would I drive her away from me, when her presence in my life was what all I needed for my existence?

So let me tell you my friend. Life isn’t what she thought & what you might think is right. Like if like a twisted road spread across a valley. Slowly and gradually you move towards a maze of twists and turns. The turns get sharper as you progress higher and before you even know crossing all those challenging turns were not worth at all because you are moving down the hill again. In midst of all the confusion of the road you completely forget to admire the beauty of the valley. You are so much focused on the challenge of the road that your focus for not a minute wanders towards the lush scenery the valley is offering you. I did the same. I did not let my focus wander. I was caught up in the difficulty of being with her so much that I forgot to admire the beauty of presence.

I stole her shine. I stole her smile and hid them in a locked box in a small corner of my mind. She wept and begged but the box never found its key. I had hid the key. I had to let her go because I had forgotten where I had hid the key.

And now she is gone, I found the key but the box is empty. I let go of her and just got to know her smile had escaped from the box long ago she just found them back.

Writer of my story

Only life had been a movie and I would have been the writer of it

There would have been no sorrows

There would have been smiles and laughter

Peaceful sleeps at night and days filled with love

The mistakes would have been corrected

The faults would have been forgotten

The regrets would have vanished

The dejected memories would have been erased

The anger would have had made peace within the self

The search would have been over

Heart wouldn’t desire anymore for all the wishes would have been fulfilled

If only I had been the writer of my story

The pain of being not wanted.

“When my husband had an affair with someone else I watched his eyes glaze over when we ate dinner together and I heard him singing to himself without me, and when he tended the garden it was not for me.

He was courteous and polite; he enjoyed being at home, but in the fantasy of his home I was not the one who sat opposite him and laughed at his jokes. He didn't want to change anything; he liked his life. The only thing he wanted to change was me.

It would have been better if he had hated me, or if he had abused me, or if he had packed his new suitcases and left.

As it was he continued to put his arm round me and talk about being a new wall to replace the rotten fence that divided our garden from his vegetable patch. I knew he would never leave our house. He had worked for it.

Day by day I felt myself disappearing. For my husband I was no longer a reality, I was one of the things around him. I was the fence which needed to be replaced. I watched myself in the mirror and saw that I was mo longer vivid and exciting. I was worn and gray like an old sweater you can't throw out but won't put on.

He admitted he was in love with her, but he said he loved me.

Translated, that means, I want everything. Translated, that means, I don't want to hurt you yet. Translated, that means, I don't know what to do, give me time.

Why, why should I give you time? What time are you giving me? I am in a cell waiting to be called for execution.

I loved him and I was in love with him. I didn't use language to make a war-zone of my heart.

'You're so simple and good,' he said, brushing the hair from my face.

He meant, Your emotions are not complex like mine. My dilemma is poetic.

But there was no dilemma. He no longer wanted me, but he wanted our life

Eventually, when he had been away with her for a few days and returned restless and conciliatory, I decided not to wait in my cell any longer. I went to where he was sleeping in another room and I asked him to leave. Very patiently he asked me to remember that the house was his home, that he couldn't be expected to make himself homeless because he was in love.

'Medea did,' I said, 'and Romeo and Juliet and Cressida, and Ruth in the Bible.'

He asked me to shut up. He wasn't a hero.

'Then why should I be a heroine?'

He didn't answer, he plucked at the blanket.

I considered my choices.

I could stay and be unhappy and humiliated.

I could leave and be unhappy and dignified.

I could Beg him to touch me again.

I could live in hope and die of bitterness.

I took some things and left. It wasn't easy, it was my home too.

I hear he's replaced the back fence.” 
― Jeanette Winterson, Sexing the Cherry

Updates

It has been a while since I wrote something for my blog. Recently I am having a lot of free time. Time to watch movies, read books, go for shopping and sleep my heart’s content. Sleeping hasn’t been my forte since years though. Me and sleep just never get along much. I guess we will find our peace one day…

Just felt like updating. Toodles 

Words Defy to Define What I Feel.

One needs to physically sense the existence of feelings with their closed eyes. The true, happy, giggling, lonely, bursting with resentment, filled with anxiety, secluded and despaired feelings.

I think my feelings are like lights in a jar. Some of them sparkling bright attracting and tempting the moths of desire and some of them faint, blurring reality with dreams. 

Life in Chaos.

What is chaos?  What is life in chaos? how would you define chaos? How would you paint it? How can you feel chaos? Will it be silent, penetrating your ears, drum beats and whispering or a jungle of lines and dots, splashes of color and dirt, murky and shadows? 

Imaginary little party.

So if I had a party.. or lets say a quite elegant dinner who would be the people I would want there to be?

1. J.K.Rowling (Without any doubt)
2. Chris Martin
3. Damon Salvatore
4. Momofuku Ando
5. A.R. Rehman
6. Van Gogh
7. Willy Wonka
8.Chandler Bing
9. Sirius Black
10. Abdul Bari Khan
11.David Ogilvy
12. Bubbles (from Powerpuff girls)
13. Hans Zimmer
14. Sanjeev Kapoor

And I am sure in coming years the list will grow.

7 stages of love

Watched a movie last night and reminded me how beautiful love can be.  I was beginning to lose faith in it. I know it was just a movie. It was supposed to be sentimental and moving but deep down we all know there is a magic known as love and it is the most powerful kind of magic which can create you or break you.  It has a warm and beautiful feeling which makes you feel secure and special.

Read this a couple of days ago that love has seven stages, wanted to share since then.

1. Hab (Attraction)
2. Uns (Infatuation)
3. Ishq (Love)
4. Aqeedat (Reverence)
5. Ibadat (Worship)
6. Junoon (Obsession)
7. Maut (Death)

Something Beautiful to Read.

“It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. 
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. 
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human. 
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy. 
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence. 
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children. 
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. 
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away. 
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.” 
― Oriah Mountain Dreamer

I love you Rain.

Things I love about Rain.

·         The dark fluffy clouds that cover the sky.

·         The way all the birds fly away to their nests.
·         The thunder.
·         The pitter patter sound.
·         The water trails on window planes.
·         The way wind shield wipers move across the windshield.
·         Tea tastes better when it’s raining.
·         Coffee tastes even better than tea when it’s raining.
·         Pakorey taste..well phenomenal with hari chunti when it’s raining.
·         The feeling of water droplets on my face.
·         The shivers that run down my spine when I am drenched in cold rain water.
·         Cool breeze during the rain.
·         The crazy dance in rain.
·         Closing my eyes and facing sky .
·         Taking out colorful umbrellas just to pose for the pictures. Seriously who needs umbrellas when it’s raining?
·         How everything looks fresh and green after it rains.
·         Waking up to the sound of rain.
·         Falling asleep to the sound of rain.
·         Music becomes magical during the rain.
·         The smell during the rain.
·         The smell after the rain. Petrichor. I wish I could bottle up that smell.

·         Rain itself.

Picture credits Tumblr.