Tag Archives: Helplessness


19 Aug

How do thoughts travel? From a lifetime of memories that make me feel like I am being forced into a matchbox to trivialities to making me soar across the endless vista of clear skies towards a thousand wishes and dreams…

2011. The world dissolved around me and I thought I could get it whole again by sheer force of will. I went through the motions. What is the appropriate behaviour when you are offered condolences? I still don’t know. I looked at the sea of people and wondered what is that they see on my face. People I haven’t seen or known of. I envied our cat crawling under the bed. I recall not being able to cry. I wanted to do something to replace the strange vacuum I was cocooned in. Bits and pieces come to me about the week that passed. I walk around in a daze. I find shirts and other knickknacks. They still smell of him. Of comfort, filter coffee and incense.


2012. Not seeing him around is confusing. I keep thinking he is bathing or lying down. I am able to look at things he loved and while my throat clogs up, I think I am getting better at not being a wreck. There is a strange sense of deja-vu as I see people I saw last year. Some laughter tinged with tears, lots of memories and plenty of photo albums. I find myself talking to him and writing letters. I am clearing things up and I find an unopened bottle of his shaving cream. I look at his stamps, his books. Those accounts he kept of what and how much was spent where. There are random scribbles of his. As I look at the familiar scrawl the knot loosens a little.


2013. I am in a new place. New faces. A few idiots. I remember being angry with him for leaving. I am writing a letter to a friend. We go for a drive in the evening and there is a tense cold silence, shifting and moving. Suddenly we are near a small school and I talk while the dashboard is being subject to a stony glare and swear words. Suddenly my eyes are being shielded from the fierce glare of headlights with a palm. The heat coming off is gentle, like the fire warming your house. I smell his soap, the chocolate we shared and air freshener. Throughout the walk back home and after reaching I feel my heart galloping and I wonder if they can see in my eyes.. How my world faded away …


2014. This year has been awful so far. I think about how events would have played out if he were still alive. I wonder if the vacant expression on her face will vanish if he comes back, just for a moment… Or has she forgotten him too? I think about that moment when a fairy tale came to life and I wonder if I dreamed it up. I wait for the cold to dissipate and for the blood to start flowing again. I remember feeling guilty that I was feeling this .. this giddy… happy on the same date I lost someone. I am seeing with fresh eyes and yet I am longing for familiarity. I wish I didn’t have to write letters or talk alone as I try to bridge a distance that is insurmountable. I remember hearing that he was glad that the date wasn’t one of only loss anymore…


2015. I am wondering about DNA. Life. The entire day goes by and I remember rather late what the date is. Existential crises continue to swirl in my head when I look at the mirror and see that people who have gone, aren’t as gone as we think. That maybe their legacy will live on vicariously in you, even if they aren’t around anymore. That sharing their memories is how keep them alive. And I realize that even though it has been four years since I spoke to him I remember the finer details. Like him leaving paste over my brush after he brushed. The bottles of cold water. Groundnut candy. An anthology. I ask him why he left, swiping at stray, traitorous tears absent-mindedly. Amidst all this there are snatches of normalcy. Me being a fool in love.


2016. Now, it’s been five years. I thought I would never be able to get over the grief. And yet, here I am. I miss you terribly and I know it’s something that I will always carry around. As I am typing this, my eyes go to the clock as it ticks closer to the end of three years… I am opening random apps on my phone and grimacing at my impatience. Loss is a funny thing, isn’t it? You think you will never be able to get over something or someone who was so deeply entwined into your life. And yet, it morphs and it gets easier to breathe with time. Like a battle scar. Love is confusing. With each passing day, you are less sure of how to define it. Comes along when you least expect it, shakes everything up and leaves behind a flavour you will never be completely free of. Then again, do you want to be?


© My Rickety Typewriter, 2016; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.


Sand Castle

21 Dec

For the knee part of the hand, yo!


 Scales tipping to one side
Gossamer petals fall as if in a trance
Cushioned by the wind, kissing the earth
Stark white against deep scarlet
Whispers of denial and hope reverberate
Cloaked in vivacity, crept in an old friend.
Solitude slipped away, unnoticed
And loneliness became the sentinel

Am I fooling myself?

Or you?

The breeze stole through the orphaned hallways.
Laughter and warmth hiding in the echoes
Like a loose thread on your sweater,
you pulled at it and it began unravelling
Faster than it was dreamed together
Petrichor lingered replete with
unsaid promises, shattered dreams

Did you know all along?
Or did I?

A whisper, “Please, don’t”
But, you can’t fight against
fear and indifference
With them, for them
Words wrought with care
so easily dismissed
But they were all you had
And you gave them all
When it wasn’t enough, you gave yourself
And here you stand bereft of warmth

Will it crumble?

Or has it already?

You leave the door open.
Not to relive the memories
But to see if the shadows can be dispelled

For the light knows where to find you
And if need be, if it wanted to,
It would … For you.

Determination & desperation
Which side are you on?

 © My Rickety Typewriter, 2014; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.


23 Mar


A small whisper of something.. Something that makes you look around and feel a little edgy and restless..  You look around, feeling a little uneasy and slowly, you begin to increase your pace. Then you put on a burst of speed and just run.. Your limbs understand the urgency and comply with your demands.  As the adrenaline kicks in, your awareness becomes more pronounced. You feel the burn in your calf muscles as they protest against the unexpected exertion.. The perspiration leaves a trail on your back even as it drips from your forehead on to the bridge of your nose.


Your body reels under the onslaught of sensations while your mind dredges up a multitude of images, as to what could happen, each more horrifying than the last, making your heart beat so hard, it hurt to breathe. You slow down and take deep breaths as your lungs scream exhaustion. Everything seems to slow down and it gradually comes to a halt… You convince yourself that it was just your imagination and you slowly let out a sigh of relief.. As you look over your shoulder, it looms up in front of you and grabs you around the neck. The fingers are hard, unrelenting..  You gasp, trying to breathe and claw at the hand clutching your throat, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. 


You try to kick. Scream. Anything.. Just about anything, to get it off you. As your eyes adjust, you notice their dark hooded cloaks blending into the night.  It feels cold. So very cold. The dampness seeps through.. From the hands holding you prisoner, through your throat.. As it moves, in pace with your blood, all sensation is brought to a stand-still. As you swallow, you feel the chill spread down to your heart freezing all thought, every bit of emotion and then pulverizing them.


You want to run away. Take me away, you plead. Or at the very least, pray you don’t see another day. You wonder if your store of tears would ever dry up… The slightest nudge pushes you over the edge… You let it lull you into an exhausted sleep with a false sense of security that tomorrow will be better than today. But, the darkness seems to follow you around through the day. They don’t need walls to hold you hostage, not when they’re inside your head.


All your dreams, the ones you wrapped in soft cloth and preserved were let out like birds from a cage. And fly they did.. Just not how you thought they would. You want to wake up without feeling like you are being chased… without feeling like you have nothing to look forward to.. without feeling like it is a never-ending night… You want to fall asleep feeling safe and you wonder if it is too much to ask?


You get through each day, counting the minutes until you could see them, again. You breathe the fear in, trying to be brave. You don’t let any of your tears fall after that first day. It was only when you met them and they opened their arms that your tears started falling..

Would you understand why it feels as though the colours have leached out, leaving behind a monochrome?


© My Rickety Typewriter, 2014; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

Der Schrei

19 Feb

I see soldiers camouflaged, moving into a forest, ready to destroy. I stop to look around. There seems to an undeniable crackling of energy in the air.  The setting seems rather familiar. The forest looks lush and green with the trees standing close to one another, they might just be one single entity. Their canopy is so dense, that only a few slivers of sunlight, pass through. I walk further inside. There don’t seem to be any paths that have been forged due to constant walking. It seems unexplored.

The forest looks intimidating, yet there is a rather unbridled freedom to be yourself. Far from civilization, yet closer to being humane. Not a sound was to be  heard, save for the wind whistling through the trees. As I watched, a small flower slowly falls down. As it falls, it slowly turns, the petals fluttering.. I can see the pollen getting scattered. How deceptive are looks, I wonder. Light yellow and so small and seemingly empty, yet having the potential to create everything.

I keep walking and a while later, I stop in surprise. I see a small bridge going from one side of a small stream to the other. It is made of creepers and there are several small flowers peeking from within the corded thickness. There are several large trees with hanging roots and they have woven through these creepers quietly providing their strength and structure. I walk towards it wondering if I will be able to walk over it.

I gingerly place a foot in front and another and another and before I know it, I am on the other side. This side of the stream seems to provide a new meaning to silence. I can hear the breath I take, the crunch of old leaves as I step over them, an occasional cricket and my heart. It looks like I have reached the heart of the forest. The trees here seem.. different. There is more diversity and they seem to have.. character? The inside seems rather melancholic, as compared to the periphery. 

As I wander further, I come across an enormous tree.. It looks magnificent and at least a few hundred years old. It reminded me of the phrase “old-soul”. I touch the trunk and I flinch at the texture. It is.. soft, warm. The tree itself seems to be thrumming with life. I walk around it, running my hand over the surface. As I bend, to touch my face to it, I look at the ground and a small gasp escapes me. 

The roots that have been growing above ground have been poisoned. Somebody has also drilled through the base of the tree and poured something within. I remember the soldiers I saw. Whose fault would it be if the tree died? Theirs because they started it or mine because I couldn’t stop it? 

I hear a battle cry and I turn around to see something aimed at me.  I realize this is war. And yet, I’m powerless to stop it. The soldiers march on. The infantry destroys. I feel blood flowing down. I look at my hand to see deep gashes. A knife materializes in my hand. I drop it and run. A way out. I scream, I yell, I cry out. But it doesn’t seem to matter. The soldiers sense my turmoil and see an easy target. As they move toward me, I run faster. A cliff looms ahead and suddenly, I’m at peace. I know I’ll fall. I feel something warm and sticky over my right shoulder. My left hand goes up and there is something sharp sticking out. I pull and a small dart comes away, dripping with blood and something.. black. 

I realize that I don’t want to go, over a period of days, wasting away, with each moment drawn out. Rage is the only thing I feel.. It moves fast and burns out every coherent thought. I want to scream out loud until my  insides splinter. The rage is slowly joined by pain. It feels like I have been set on fire. I scream in agony.

I want this to stop. I place my hands over my ears and scream. It comes out, drawn out and guttural.. I fall down on my knees  as I plead for the pain to stop, knowing it won’t.. I crawl to the edge of the cliff and look below. It seems a long way down. I can barely see the ground. I take a deep breath and simply roll off.



© My Rickety Typewriter, 2014; Vintage Ink.
No part of the text – partial or complete – may be copied/ reproduced or transmitted without prior permission from the author. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

%d bloggers like this: