Void.

How you fill your void tells a lot about you! At least that's what I believe. I look at people I barely know and wonder if they're always this lively; if they ever undergo a certain state of nothingness, bouts of loneliness or episodes of pain when life absolutely spirals out of their control. Because it definitely happens to me. When I'm trying to fill my void. With things of meaning and things so meaningless. I fill my void with stupidity, with random acts of kindness but also snide remarks, with foolhardiness and boisterous attempts at reconnecting with people. With exotic teas from the hills and melancholic poems also from the hills. Sometimes with people I don't care at all about so that I can indulge in nonsensical banter. Maybe with silence, weak tears, impractical imaginations and fancy castles in the air. On bad days, I fill void with ennui, hurting the ones who care about me or simply hurting myself. Because void does mean things to everyone and I just use that as a reason. On good days, I fill it with filter coffee, photographs from good times, poetry, and not-so-long lasting things of all kinds.

If how you fill your void tells a lot about you, what does it tell about me?

Tune for the day: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RB-RcX5DS5A

The Beginning, In-between, and Ending.

Page no 319,

there was a forgotten coffee shop in the bylanes of a street that was used only for evening walks,

every evening, it was adorned with lights and its brown bricked walls held paintings of exotic places,

candles were lit on every table,

the visitors were few, but it was a secret getaway for a lot of people.

Most of the evenings, he walked in with her but today was different,

they walked in and out separately.

Page no 14,

there was always a new place in this part of the town,

sometimes a cafe, sometimes a night club,

people bonded over coffee and fell in love with each other over dances and music that'll be remembered for years.

She walked into one such new place, after taking a last look at herself in the mirror,

Dressed in white and blue, he stood on his feet as soon as he saw her.

A lot wasn't spoken on that day, the music was too loud and they were too shy,

the first flush of love, I remember, is always like that.

Page no 249,

happiness isn't the only prominent story of our lives,

melancholy and joy come in equal parts,

unfortunately, we fail to welcome them both in similar fashions.

We question sadness but accept happiness without any iota of doubt,

but together, he and she revelled in joy and got through sadness.

Page no 457,

a room that overlooked gigantic snowy mountains and a sunset that spread its oranges and yellows across the sky,

cups of tea were strewn across the table where they put their feet up,

it was cold but the setting sun's warmth and their intimacy did all that a thick blanket couldn't.

Stuck in a moment of love amidst nature was a dream they dreamt together, many nights ago.

Page no 75,

the drive to the unknown roads between brown hills was long,

but the longing to reach there was stronger than anything.

In between the setting sun and the music they carefully chose for the drive, they stared at the city they left behind,

there was a lot of silence and no words involved,

but there were bits and pieces of everything people new to romance ever wanted.

The beginning, middle, and the ending - we imagine all stories must have them.

We imagine our lives must have them and we do.

But not necessarily in the same order.

When we are all brewing stories of our own, just remember not to measure it in the scales of beginnings, middles, and endings.

Things Running In My Head.

The common cold is a common occurrence for me. During Winters, we practically meet and greet every morning. While I can say it's the only constant in my life, during sickness and health (because hey, I've learned to live with it), I despise it for very strong reasons like - sounding like a mouse during important meetings and having a red nose. But when I see people around me, who are prone to such things, I feel glad, because I'm not the only one with this petty sickness and with so many of them around me, nothing can truly bog me down. I revel in such things.

This afternoon, as I was watching the return of Gilmore Girls while dabbing tins of Vicks, I was called into the living room. My father had to introduce me to our really sweet landlord, who was sorry about the loss of my mother. He talked about the pain he went through when he lost his father, and when his wife lost her's at a very tender age. This brings me to a strange thought - Do we feel better when we know that we are surrounded with people who experience similar forms of pain and confusion like us? Does it make us feel that we aren't alone in this and that at every junction of life, we'll meet people who have overcome the struggles and losses of their life?

Most of the times, we crave the company of people when we are truly happy or when we want to celebrate our victories or promotions. In sadness, we claim that we want to be left alone. However, whenever we come across stories of loss that happen to people we know, hear of, or even fictional heroes, we understand that pain and loss are a part and parcel of everything we do. It certainly is comforting to know that we're not alone in this, even when we say we are.

So what is it? Do we basically feel secure when people around us are going through similar stuff that we are experiencing? Or are we just selfish even in the pursuit of this whole thing?

I guess I'll keep looking for a finite answer.

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.

Grow Old With Me!

I walked out of the railway station with the heart on my sleeve; my eyes wandered for you in the crowd. I tucked my stray curls perfectly behind my ears, when I felt your arms around my shoulder and your lips at the nape of my neck.

I missed you. I stuttered and failed to put it in words.

I let out a deep sigh. You looked so debonair even in those black pants and white shirt. 

Long distance was not easy. In fact, it was excruciating. However, looking at you, at that very moment, I have realized it was worth it.

You did not let me go out of your sight. Your car and its familiarity took me on a long trip of nostalgia.

You said I have changed a lot. I said you have changed a great deal too.

But your quirks still remained unaltered. The way you slightly hum a song while driving to your smile that calms my nerves—you haven’t changed! You were still that beautiful man who made my world pleasant.

You still gave me flutters. You still gave me the butterflies.

You were still your charming self.

I looked at the rose you slyly put on my lap when I tried to explain you the details of my journey. You paid attention even when the radio was playing your favourite song.

As the car passed through the post box that was beaten out of shape, I remembered your first letter to me, “I want to grow old with you.”

At 50, we are still growing older. Together!

We crossed a tiny coffee shop later. We called it our secret place, remember? We used to meet here often, in pursuit of exchanging letters, books, and gifts. I still remember all those poems you've written for me. And the letters, the letters are still treasured in a suitcase under our bed.

As we parked the car in our community parking lot, and walked towards our home, we passed the park. I remember how we met here for the first time. You were with your golden retriever, and I was with my book.

We met every Sunday after that.

As we reached home, I remembered the lovely moment when I stepped into this place 25 years ago. The note you left that day, “Make my house into our home with your words, our love, and the sunshine.”

The note is still nailed to our mirror.

Over the past few years, many things have changed. Our tiny bed has been replaced by a king size one; our Videocon television has been replaced with a swanky flat screen; our Yashica’s roll camera has been replaced with a Nikon digital camera; my typewriter has been replaced with a desktop.

Everything has turned obsolete except our love for each other.

I walked into the kitchen to see our coffee filter damaged beyond repair. You have done it again. Is this our 15^th filter or the 16^th? I have even lost the count.

I walked into the bedroom to find you unpack my bags. You looked a little exhausted. 

You looked frail.

We were growing old together. You wanted it, didn't you? 

You were with me when I published my first story, and I was with you when you made your first fortune. You stood by my side when my parents left the world, and I never let you go when your pet died. You mocked my failed attempts at tying a saree while I suppressed my giggle watching you wear a dhoti. You were there when I panicked on turning 30, and I was there when you spotted your first grey hair.

We were there for each other. Even when one of us fell apart. 

As you noticed me standing behind you, you looked at me with your eyes full of warmth and affection. You smiled at me. Just the way you used to when you were 25.

I missed you. And I still cannot fathom why I cannot put it into words.

Of Lost Love, Forgotten Emotions!

“When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.” 

― George R.R. Martin

Sometimes, in a world full of a million people and their zillion dreams, we all drift into a moment where simple things mattered. The moments where we had boundless love, memories that were actually moments, sweet sense of joy, and bitter sadness that held us together.

Lost love. Forgotten emotions. Bittersweet memories. Nostalgia.

It is quite astonishing how the long talks about serendipity, love, heartbreak and the metaphors cannot justify the ethereal feeling of lost love.

While the memories are long gone and the pain has faded, I can still write about the lost love. Fondly!

Love is like a bowl of freshly made ice-cream. An ice-cream that has the best of cream, chocolate chips, and sprinkles. It has an aroma that reminds you of all the best moments in your life.

On a beautiful, rainy day, you sit in your favourite cafe, and savour your bowl of ice-cream. You enjoy it without thinking about anything, and when you finish it, you keep craving for more. Lost love, it ends in a fleeting moment, breaking your heart away, it makes you lose your senses, and after all the pain, you still crave it.

Emotions! So much for being a human.

Lost love, you leave a part of yourself there, and walk out in the storming rain, and this is when you cannot stop thinking about the repercussions, the dire consequences, and oh, the gory future.

You take time. The pain eventually fades. You smile. You are happy.

You take some more time. The pain completely fades. You laugh. You are infectiously happy.

But on odd nights, you hold a glass of whiskey in your hand, and reminisce all the good old moments where simply things made your life beautiful. As you listen to your favourite track by Coldplay, and swoon over Chris Martin's magical voice, you think of all the little moments that made your life alive and pink.

Lost love, amidst all the grandeur and morbid details of life, you made sense. You keep us, the hopeless romantics, emotionally alive. Even when everything makes us numb, the tiny detail of you makes us squeal in the night.

And it is strange how you still make sense in spite of being lost for an eternity!

Does Your Love Story Need A Reality Check?

“I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.” 

― Lisa Kleypas

I woke up this morning to a surreal image of love in my head.

L-O-V-E

This four letter, just a tiny four letter word has all the power in the world; practically it is the most unpractical emotion ever, and we all know it, love is outright ridiculous. But we all crave this emotion, in spite of knowing its repercussions.

So, when I was thinking and having a rather profound conversation on this strong emotion with people around me, I had this strange feeling that most of us, maybe most of us are setting ourselves up for a massive disappointment. And I would like to blame Literature for this. Yes, let me just thrust the sole blame on Literature and Fiction.

When women talk about love, all they need is a Fitzwilliam Darcy, and isn't it ludicrous that he is a fictional character? I mean, how fair is it to compare any average man with Mr Darcy? Cut the man some slack. I am glad that men do not read Jane Austen because no lady can match up to the wits of an Austen heroine.

Literature forms paints this ethereal and rosy image of love. You know the one, the perfect one, the Prince charming, the drool worthy vampire, Emma Wodehouse, and the metaphors that maybe, just maybe we forget that we live in a cynical world where the goodness of fiction is unavailable. I know, what a shame! Fiction and Literature have been messing up with our romantic lives since times immemorial and much to my chagrin, I find myself saying that Fiction is a fallacy. Quite a fallacy!

Can we all for a moment forget that there is a thing called Fiction and say this to ourselves, especially all the women out there who are smitten by Edward Cullen? (Hold your horses)

I look at this man, a man who is not a fictional character, he is noble but he has his off moments. He is imperfect. He is flawed in many million ways. He does not have blue eyes. He does not read out Pablo Neruda to me. He does not hold my perfectly manicured arm all the time and sing Bryan Adams to me all night. He does not function that way.

But he is there for me when I need him. He knows that I am a simple girl with a plateful. Hey, I do not need a man who can get me a Volvo like Edward Cullen. Not an Edward Rochester either. And when I find a man who loves me in the non-fictional way, I will hold on to him. And I know for a fact that I will open the Pandora’s Box. I do not want to run away from it and crave for a blue eyed boy. When I see this man, all I can think of is home. And I want to go home to him everyday.

Love is all about putting up with the whims and caprices and loving the idiosyncrasies of our partners in the most convenient ways ever.

Read fiction for the whole purpose of enjoying Literature delightfully. Do not dive into them so deeply that you do not own a story of your own. Why do you want to live a story written by some neurotic writer who wrote a story all because he has insomnia and was high on caffeine all night? Be the lead of your story and make your partner the hero. What is the point in living a life if all you need is a Darcy? Because no surprises there, he belongs to Elizabeth Bennet and erm, you are a non-fictional person, aren't you?

There are no free lunches in life. You need to meet your partner mid-way to make things work because this vile thing called love is worth all the pain and effort and this is not fictional.

So now, close your eyes and ask yourself, does your love story need a reality check?

(Disclaimer: I am a strong lover of Jane Austen's work and this is still an understatement.)

Hello Happiness: 10 Things You Learn From Your Break-Up!

“The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.” 

― Chuck Palahniuk

Break-ups are always difficult. Most of us do not take it well, and some people go into a cocoon and build a wall around themselves, but at the end of the devastating phase, only one thing goes around in your head, "Good riddance."

And on that good note, I thought I should compile a list of ten things that your brutal break-up teaches you. 

10. It will teach you the difference between the good and the bad, and what is good for you. A break-up is an eye-opener, and you know, it is probably the most honest thing that has happened to you in the relationship.

9. It teaches you to love yourself. No, I don't mean that you did not love yourself before the break-up, but your perception about yourself changes SO much that you seem like a whole new person altogether. And you accept the change. 

8. You will learn to appreciate your solitude. 

If a person cannot appreciate your presence, walk away. You are doing yourself a favour. If you have even a shred of dignity left in yourself, just walk away.

It is okay if you have to be alone. Only loneliness will let you appreciate the presence of another person in your life.

7. Needless to say, you will find a lot of time to do your own things. This time, you won't have a hindrance.

You can wear whatever you want. You can go wherever you want.

Freedom! I mean, seriously, when people from all over the world are fighting for freedom, you get it without putting up any fight.

6. You will be exposed to several emotions at so many levels that if you are an artist, this is the best thing that can happen to you.

Remember what Kurt Cobain once said? Thank you for the tragedy, I need it for my art.

5. For a moment, pause everything you do. Look around, and count the people who have been with you in the darkest of your days.

This is what a break-up teaches you, it makes you appreciate the value of people who actually love you.

Ask yourself if you were blind all this time. When you have good friends, you will get through everything. Trust me.

4. One must stop expecting extra ordinary from the ordinary. 

It won't happen.

3. You can get everything you want. You can do anything.

All you need to do is, start.

2. The most wonderful people are the ones who go through humiliation, pain, and dejection. They have the tendency to make any situation humourous.

Wonderful people don't happen just like that. It is an everyday process to accept yourself.

1. You will fall in love again.

And this time, it will be better, and bigger. (If you know what I mean.)

It will be as glorious as Sanjay Leela Bhansali's cinema. And it will still be underrated.

Let Me Love You At Your Worst!

Watson: Why is she like this?

Sherlock: Because you chose her.

The moment I watched this scene, I knew it was going to be the best part of the entire episode. It indeed did.

I vividly remember asking myself countless times, “Why did I choose you of all people? Could I not choose someone better?”

But I chose you.

I chose trouble. I chose disorder. I chose pain.

I chose you. Because you keep me emotionally alive. I chose my stupidity over shrewdness.

And for all intents and purposes, I fell in love with you and there isn’t a better way of expressing this, I reckon. I want to love you at your worst.

I want to love you when you crease your forehead because of the hot summer heat, I want to love you when you freak out because the food doesn't get delivered on time, and I want to love you when you are majorly disappointed with someone in your life. I will not brush it aside as a quarter-life crisis.

I will love you when you are tired and I know I must suffer the repercussions. I will love you and put up with all your whims and caprices. I will love you when things do not work out. I will love you even when I realize that you are pushing me away for my own good. I will love you even when you are going through a major trauma. I will love you because I know I want to be your strongest even at your weakest.

I want to love you when you break down, I will hold your arm, and stand by your side. I want to love you when you want me to hold you because you miss someone. I want to love you in your failure even when I am not with you in your victory. No matter whoever is with you in your happiness, I want to love you in your turmoil and despair; hopelessness and melancholy. I want to love you in your insecurities and dire straits. 

I want to love you like how a certain writer would love his first book, like how a painter would love his most underrated yet precious piece of work, like how a musician would love a tune that brings back all his best memories I will love you like how a poet would love his tragedy. I want to love you like how Moon would love the Sun. I want to love you like how an alcoholic holds on to his pain. 

I want to love you a little more. A little more with every passing day.

So, would you let me love you at your worst? Just let me.