Letter to My 18-Year-Old Self.

Dear 18-year-old self,

As the clock strikes 12, you'll find your phone buzzing with texts wishing you a happy birthday. Most of them are strangers, but they'll turn into a family you cannot cut ties with even if they are continents apart. You have an exam tomorrow and it's the first of the many you'll give, this semester. You must have turned 18 now and you must be thrilled, but listen, you're still not an adult. Take it from your 26-year-old self, you'll always be a child to your family. Your grandfather still frets if you don't return home by 7 PM.

Let me tell you a good story now. Right now, you're pretty psyched about future. You must be planning on giving your CAT in three years and settle for whatever pay you the most. You are hoping you'll graduate with a great job offer on hand. Somewhere between working as an intern at several places and hanging out with your friends discussing your dreams, something will snap inside of you. You'll sense a weariness, a strange restlessness settling at the pit of your stomach. You'll never understand where it began and why it has, and the worst part? You'll not even know if it will ever end. You'll grow to call this anxiety your own and you'll give it its own space in your home.

You are so shy it makes me wonder that I was you. So, yeah, heads up: You'll change. God, you'll change so much that you'll probably not recognize yourself if you wake up at 25 now. You will experience colossal losses, which unfortunately will push you in becoming an adult overnight. Don't freak out. You can handle it.

You'll learn to travel, you'll learn to make the best of your finances. Even if it means you overdo shopping. You'll learn to live without regrets, and you'll learn to let go of people and things that aren't meant for you. Maybe grudgingly so, but you will. You'll learn to step out of your comfort zone, and you'll be surprised at the number of times and how constantly you'll do it. Girl, it'll be chaotic, but it'll be worth it. You'll tell stories and write many. More importantly, you'll live them.

Let me tell you the bad things now. Your selfishness might still remain as intact. You'll find pathetic reasons to hurt the ones who love you and you'll also be hurt by people you care deeply for. Learn not to put people on a pedestal. Accept the fact that they're not perfect even if your love for them makes you don rose-tinted glasses when looking at them. They're flawed and broken and in their battle against themselves, you'll end up being a collateral damage. Be kind to them, but never at the cost of losing yourself. Maybe you won't find what you're searching for and your thoughts will definitely be sullied by that very thing. But hey, it's going to be okay. Everything you lose and fail at will only prepare you for the beautiful mess you'll learn to embrace in the years to come.

You will rise and fall, maybe falling more often than rising, and that's okay. Your life won't be a cakewalk, but let me tell you, it will never be boring. There will be something new each day and you'll not have it any other way. You'll breathe, live, and do everything you'll dream of. Don't let anything bog you down because that's not what you are made for.

Learn, please learn to tell better stories and be a good story for others to tell.

Tune for the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlBIeZi3Ko4

Left Behind.

I knew you wanted to be engulfed in the magnanimity of the sprawling Himalayas,

and walk the streets of New York,

you were a bit obsessed with the Swiss Alps,

and with the houseboats on the Dal Lake,

remember the times you'd point pictures of various towns and

cities across the world?

and that you wanted to be there,

live there,

see the snow melt in your palms,

I know you haven't been to any of them,

in fact, you haven't been anywhere,

but I will go to all the places you dreamed of,

touch them with your presence,

and maybe leave a bit of yourself there,

after all, I'm a bit of yourself that you left behind.

Long Gone.

It was a warm Summer afternoon. She stretched her aching feet on the tender grass by a stream. She chose this spot to write letters to him. She always chose this spot, to write him long letters of love; to write him mundane letters that hid her pain.

She wrote to him about the hens in their courtyard and about the persistent water scarcity in their village. She wrote to him about a strange sweet smelling fruit she had every morning and how she cannot wait for him to come back. She wrote to him describing the injury on her right elbow and how she missed holding his hand. She wrote to him about the beautiful, orange sunsets and how she would do everything to be closer to him in that moment.

She wrote to him about the Sun and the Moon. About the endless blue sky and twinkling stars.

She just wrote to him about everything.

Not knowing he was long gone.

Dear You!

Dear you,

Today was a difficult day and more is yet to come. You feel the darkness engulfing around you. You feel sad. You feel the pain at the pit of your stomach. Your heart is broken and you cannot gather the broken pieces. You are too tired to mend it. You do not love sunsets any more.

You want to read books and not think about him. You want to go to your favourite coffee shop and not miss his presence. You know you have lost your favourite corner, your safe haven, but you also know that you have not lost yourself. You have stopped taking pleasure even at the beauty of butterflies. You stare endlessly at the wall and question yourself. Everything goes in vain. You know that, don't you? You want to watch a movie and savour pizza even if he is not around. You know he won't be but that you will be around yourself. Your world should be filled with you.

You stay up late one night to finish an assignment, but all you do is weep your guts out. You cry for the lost moments, you cry for what's not yours any longer, you cry for the song that reminds you of him. There is still time to get better but for now let me just lie in the darkness and the shadows, you tell yourself. You chant 'I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.' Unconvincingly. You stop noticing the little things and you stop fighting for fine mornings. You just be and you ask people to let you be. People around you pass on the unsolicited piece of advice, they force you to go back to how you were. Funnily, you will never go back to be how you were. You will never be the same person again.

You try to smile. You sign up for bizarre things, you try to do more. You know that he was just a terrible chapter in your wonderful story, but your story is not over yet. You start believing in yourself. You begin to understand the importance of you. You walk the streets and do not crave for his arm in yours. You start loving your morning coffee in a coffee shop that you went along him. There will still be songs that remind you of him. But now you have a new playlist that talks about the person you are.

You learn new things. Your heart was broken for a reason, to make space for more beauty in your life. You can feel yourself healing, the physical pain at the pit of your stomach has vanished for good. You see the sunshine creeping through the windows into your room. You smile at your reflection in the mirror. You start loving the sunsets and you notice the flowers in your garden again. 

The essence of the beauty in your life was never meant to be lost. You were never meant to be lost. You were meant to reach here, but you just embraced a thorny path to reach here.

Your story is all about you now.

Of Writing Letters and Pen Friends.

I was eight when I made a first pen friend. I distinctly remember writing letters and posting them in a red-coloured post box that was a little far from home. I made two more pen friends over a period of time and wrote different letters to the three of them. I loved receiving letters with doodles and smileys on the corner of the letters. Sometimes, they came with shimmering stickers, and they were more loved. One summer vacation, I visited my grandparents. That year was warmer than usual, and the flowers in our garden were blooming better than ever. I began writing letters to my friends -- I wrote to them about how I relished the mangoes and sorbets that my grandmother fed me, and I wrote to them complaining how my brothers never let me play cricket along with them, forcing me to be a silent spectator every time they played. I narrated in detail how much I loved taking early morning walks along the stream and glide past the high walls embraced with colourful bougainvillaea trees. I remember very well, that I suggested them to read Enid Blyton's books which happened to be my latest found love then. I guess I still remember the contents of the letter only because they were the last letters I sent to them. As soon as I returned home after the vacation, my father was transferred to a different city. In the process of worrying about a new school, new uniform, and new classmates, it absolutely slipped out of my mind that I had to inform my friends that I was moving to a different city. What's worse? I lost their addresses too! For a person who moved often, and changed seven schools, losing things wasn't new. But this time, I was rather displeased with my carelessness. Because there was something comforting about writing letters to people whose names and faces were unknown. We had pen names, remember? There was something ethereal about friendships that withstood miles of distance. And there was something funny about describing how your dog would attack the cats and receive a response that talked about such simple things. That is the magic of handwritten letters, I believe. When I was in school, I knew a lot of people who had pen-friends. I read a lot of such stories too, in a magazine called Gokulam, which was pretty popular after Tinkle. I barely see anyone writing letters now. I am afraid, I see no one. The fact that people have forgotten the art of writing beautiful letters makes me cringe. Why did we stop writing letters? Why did we stop describing the beauty of nature in letters to friends who aren't familiar with the weather in our part of the country? We cannot blame WhatsApp and Twitter for this. They still do not warrant the excuse that we stopped writing letters. I could be really selfish when I am hoping one could preserve the lost heritage of writing letters; wondering if we could ever bring back long, handwritten letters into fashion. The joy we derive from reading letters that we've received as children is quite something. I think even when we get old and have a troubling eyesight, there will be nothing more comforting than words and letters that talk so much about our history and the life we lived. 

P.S. This year, I have written three letters and received two.

Almost Twenty Four.

It looks like I am turning 24 in 13 days. Wow!

I have always been a huge fan of birthdays. Mostly, because of the cake. But even otherwise, I am always the weird one waiting for my birthday.

I have been hunting for the perfect dress for two weeks now. Though I found one, I am yet to get another one. And I don’t know why, I am really counting on getting the best dress ever. I have been receiving really wonderful presents and thoughtful letters from friends all over the world. I have made plans already. I am pretty excited, but I am little worried too. I am turning 24. Age might just be a number, but the last time I checked I was still 17. It does sound like a big deal to me.

Over the past few days, I have been trying to figure out the things I have done, and the mistakes I have learned from. I do not want to tread on the path of philosophy, but I am where I intended to be.

Over the past 23 years, 11 months, and 16 days, I have transformed from an introvert to an almost extrovert. I have started talking about things that matter to me--my blog is the proof to it. No matter where I am, and how old I get, I have always dreamed of being close to Literature. I am glad I haven’t given up on that dream. I am writing and I will always write. Of course, it did require a great deal of push from a corporate job to realize what I really wanted.

I have fallen in love. I have gotten my heart brutally broken. While one part of it urged me not to give up, the other part has constantly reminded me that I am what I am because of it. And honestly, it helped me realize that I have to let go of the life I planned ever so delicately to embrace the one that’s waiting for me. I am all about adventure now!

I have made friends at the oddest of moments and the unlikeliest of places. While some keep me sane, some run wild with me. I had to go through a slightly harder path to understand that you got to fight hard to keep your friends closer, and your family together. My friends are incredibly amazing. Even if they abuse me for not taking their calls. Even if they embarrass me at places I love the most.

I have kept two journals every year for a long period of time now. At the end of the year, as per my traditional calls, I destroy them. Only after keeping a copy of the really good ones.

Often you meet friends in the form of books and seek comfort in words. I have found one book 13 years ago and I go back to it time and again. That book has been a part of my life in sickness and joy. And my choice in music, my choice in music is getting better with time.

Something doesn't seem right though. On the outer shell, everything appears to be perfect. Almost 24 and I haven’t traveled even decently. What a shame! Sure, I have started taking my investments seriously, but what is the point if I am not putting them into use? Honestly, and quite seriously, I got to tick a few places off my list.

What else is on my mind? Ugh, I will just put travelling on my list of things to do for now.

I got to go get a new dress now. My birthday is just around the corner.

And oh, I will tell you all how it feels on turning 24.

Your Splendour And Uncertainties!

I've written you notes and letters,

On things that mattered, and things that did not.

I've scribbled on the pages of my journal,

With stories about you and your idiosyncrasies.

I was surprised to see how I fell in love with you.

Because I fell in love with you while running from silence to chaos,

Because I fell in love with you between your quirks and my mood swings,

Because I fell in love with you even when you were miles away from me.

But it did not matter at all.

Because I fell in love with your smile in the darkness,

Because I fell in love with you by looking at the contours of your face,

Because I fell in love with you between stealing glances at you and my phone,

But none of it really mattered.

Because I fell in love with you even when words ceased to matter,

And even when you were sipping your coffee or singing to yourself,

I fell in love with you even when you were doing just nothing.

I thought I knew it all. I thought nothing mattered at all.

Oblivious to the effect you had on me, I let you go.

But when you filled me with an intoxication and left scars at places I never knew existed,

I completely knew I was willing to drown myself in all your splendour and uncertainties.

You Are My Lost Story!

As I think of the day we spent together, I try to put them into words.

I am not living in the past, I assure you.

But I am still fascinated by the beauty of those moments.

I still remember that day.

When I was in pink, and you were in blue.

With your dimples and the hair not so tamed, I still managed to find you debonair.

With my haircut disaster and a grin too long, you still managed to find me beautiful.

The conversations we had over the breakfast turned out to be our inside secrets.

All the kisses and hugs just remained as scars on my body.

I am not living in the past, I assure you.

But I still remember that afternoon.

When I crashed by your side, while watching TV.

And I still remember that evening.

When you stood by my side, as I was tying my hair up.

I guess I still remember that night when you dropped me home.

And when you sent me a message, “It was an amazing day.”

I remember all of it. Bits and pieces. Tiny shreds.

But I am not living in the past, I assure you.

The beauty of that day is still fresh in my mind.

The charm of those moments is preserved in my heart.

And your smile haunted me for days and weeks.

Maybe your aroma still engulfs me sometimes.

I admit you will be remembered.

But let me also confess this.

Someday, you will just remain as a lost story.

In the torn pages of an old journal.

Journal Entry 537.

“When you're on your own, you look for signs. Sometimes you make them up, sometimes they're actually there, but most of the time you can't tell the difference from the two.” 

― Cecelia Ahern

January 4, 2015

I sat up whole night musing over time and how days are simply passing by. I am worried. I do not want to be the one standing alone looking at time pass.

I went over the details of my day, grimacing over the ones that were highly unpleasant, and smiling at the ones I've spent thinking about us.

I've had a terrible day, you know?

I did not just miss my deadlines, I missed my morning bus too. What if this turns into a compulsive habit? Also, did I tell you how incorrigible my new editor is? I blame you for this. If not for you, I would have just remained as a closet writer.

I have lost the track of the world around me.

And you, your thoughts never seem to go away from me.

The tears too have dried out but I haven't lose the count of the days ever since you left.

537 days. I am still counting.

Of course, there is no looking back. You told me that. But have I ever paid heed to your advice? I should have, you know? When you were still around!

Our pet has grown older, and ferocious. I can tell you, he misses you. He looks for you in every stranger. Your mother longs to treat you with the chocolate cake you loved as a child. Your father hopes you would magically appear at our doorstep every morning. No one can fill your void at his chess table.

And I? I wish I could tell you I am brave enough to wait forever but I miss my morning sunshine, waking up to your lazy smile and sleepy voice asking for a cup of coffee, and your warm breath at the nape of my neck.

I wish you were still here.

To experience more of my words and its enigma, flowers and their enticing fragrance, dandelion seeds and their sly quirks, sky and its endless hope. I want you to just remember that I have started loving the beauty of the world only after I fell in love with you.

Even the sapling we first planted together has grown into a giant tree bearing sweet smelling fruit.

I wish you stayed. I wish you weren't gone already.