Tag Archives: Memories

Parenthesis

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.

Lumos

23 May

I trudge up the steps as the curtains fall on yet another day. I walk to the terrace and see the inky blanket they call the night sky dotted with innumerable windows to the past. As I trace their outlines and join them to form constellations, a plane goes through the small circle my thumb and forefinger makes, ripping apart the fabric of my cosmos. And in that one instant, I hear my heart stop. Is it you on the plane I wonder. Each time I see a plane, I want to ask you, are you coming home? And in the few seconds it takes for me to go down this road, the plane has flown past.

Was my heart always glass? Or did you turn sand through fire?

***

One side of a paper. White. Unblemished. Not so much as an ink drop. Pristine. I wonder if it will be enough to hold all I feel. The longing pours itself drenching the words with a hint of brine. I scoffed at the idea of barely half a page to tell you what I saw when I went to places I have never been. Now I am out of words as I realize that there was never a moment when something didn’t remind me of you. The mountains, the meadows, the sculptures, the paintings. I can see your look of indulgence and exasperation as you come with me to places you didn’t know existed if only to hold my hand and kiss me as you listen to me ramble about how breath-taking something was and why. And so I try to cross the oceans between us, if only for a moment, as you complete the circuit by thinking of me.

***

© 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.

Postcard

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.

Kintsukuroi

15 Aug

 To seven years of friendship and counting. 
Happy birthday.

*

“‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” —Alfred Lord Tennyson

***

You asked me to write about it..
Oh darling! How I tried
If only it were so simple to scribe
As it were to fly..

How do I map lands that change,
Each time I set sail?
How do I tell you where the water flows,
When I am lost in the view?
As far as the sun’s reach,
As deep as your soul.

To feel nature’s serenade,
To want to enter his blood,
And become a raging fever.
The moon revels in her power,
For she is the Luna to his Alpha
White, distant and light years ahead,
She makes the tides turn.

You think you can shape it, love.
But, if you have tasted the madness,
You will know you are but clay.

Don’t go after it, darling..
It leads you a merry chase..
No rudder true enough,
No boat strong enough.

Let it find you..
When it blooms by itself.
It will stay with you
Till death and beyond..
If you reached for it,
And it was poison,
Leave.. But, darling,
Don’t lose hope.

With all I am,
With everything I yearn for,
I believe..
Believe, darling, for no archer
Struck bulls eye
In his first few attempts..

The journey is more your story
Than your time with her..

 © 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.

Whispers

2 Jul

“Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!” – Emily Bronte.

***

When the wind caresses your cheek and plays with your hair, uninhibited and free as only it can be, do you think of her? When a passing girl smiles, her eyes lighting up in silent invitation, do you remember a girl who waits thousands of miles away? When you cross the road, do you think of holding her hand? When you fall back on your pillow, do you wish she was there, holding you close?

When the heavens open up, do you wonder if she sent the clouds your way, asking them to wash away all your worries until it feels like she taught the rain the secret of her touch? When you read a book do you run your fingers over the letters, memorizing them, knowing instinctively where she cried. laughed and gasped? When night falls and the stars peek out while the moon stands guard, do you marvel at it and seek her in the sky?

When you pull on a shirt in haste and push your arm through the sleeve do you remember how that one button came off? When you walk past places with the smell of coffee do you smile as you think of her excitement if she were there? When you taste her favourite ice-cream, do you imagine if it would burn and taste the same down her throat, choking her up with memories and making it difficult to swallow?

When it is a little too cold do you gaze at your jacket and wonder how adorable she would look with the sleeves rolled up? Does this always follow with the thought of you to be wearing her warmth, after she gives it back?

When you breathe, with every breath you take, with every colour you see, do you think of her at all? Because she does. And her heart breaks anew every time she wakes up to an empty bed.

© 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.

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