Tag Archives: loss


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.



20 Jun

Someday you will miss me. Someday when I stop hoping it will happen. When I stop holding on even when you aren’t looking back.. Someday..

Not like a ton of bricks, love. No, not as simple as that. It will start small. You will wake up one day to your mundane routine. You will probably find out too late you are out of bread or batter and you will just decide to stop for a quick coffee when you will feel it first. A small whiff of that mix of incense, sweat and hibiscus.

You are going to stand dazed and shocked, in a drunken stupor even as you wonder if I passed by you.. It will follow you around throughout the day. You will gather courage and go look at my profile. You will probably trace my features, lingering over the dip and curve of my mouth, even as memories show you just how much I smiled.. Kissed.. Touched …

Nothing will be free from me. Not even that blue shirt you got last week. You will envision me wearing it, sleeping disheveled and smelling of you, as you wake me up to a morning of languid exploration. Someday you will know, the gaping vacuum in me. That which stings for all its emptiness. Someday, you will miss me, just as much..

And your eyes will fall on an old, forgotten photo where I am looking at you, smiling like you were all I wanted. You will hold your hair and scream my name in desperation, much like an addict for his fix.. I promise you, you will collapse unable to bear the onslaught of memories.


© My Rickety Typewriter, 2015; 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.


1 Jun


That void, it never goes away.
The ghost of their presence, always around.
When you are happy or sad and turn to find them it’s only then you realize they are gone.
You go around like you are okay, but you wonder what would they say or do if they could see you now.

Would they smile and run their hand over your head?
Would they laugh and tell that they are right here?
Or would they allow you to hug them and cry.

You can’t even cry now, can you? Because it’s been so long, people have expected you to have moved on.
But you don’t know how.
You don’t know if you should cry because somewhere inside, you are glad they are free from pain and are away from this darkness.

If only you would come back, but for a moment ..
If only you would come back, I would tell how much I love you and always will.
If only you would come back, I would show you how grateful I am for having been in your life.
If only you would come back, I would tell the world how much you mean to me.
If only you would come back, I would hug you and never let go.
If only you would come back, I would fight the world for you, for without you, where is my world?

If only..

For all the times you have made me smile.
For all the times you have wiped my tears.
For all the times you have pulled the blanket over me.
For all the times I have eaten off your plate.
For all the times I have hugged you.
For all the times you have told me it will be alright.
For all the fights we have had.
For all the times you took care of me.
For all the times you told me you will always be there.

Sometimes people tell me this kind of intensity will only burn me down.
Be more mellow, they tell me.
But they didn’t know you, did they?
Why aren’t you crying they asked me the very day you left.
What could I tell?

That I could still sense you?
That I was always ensconced in your warmth, safely?
That I couldn’t believe you were gone?
I will make you proud, I promise.

P.S. This is because of you, Kruthika Maheswar.

Reading that poem of yours made me cry my eyes out.

P.P.S- I don’t know why I posted this. Be gentle, please.

© My Rickety Typewriter, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Vintage Ink and My Rickety Typewriter with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. The content is the intellectual property of the author. The above applies no matter what way the access to the blog was granted.

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