Victim and the Survivor

A shiver ran through her spine, as she saw him creeping on her from behind. She could sense him from his shadows. She did not need to see him, to know who it was.  After all, he was too familiar for her not to recognise. She knew it was him from how helpless she suddenly felt, how the smell of the tiny motel room suddenly turned overwhelmingly musty. She felt nauseated, hopeless.

He shouldn’t be knowing where she was. He wasn’t welcome here. The very reason she avoided all the familiarity of her place in the city and moved to this musty motel in a sparsely populated sleepy town miles away, was to check if change in scenes could help her get over him. She had a deadline in a week and she needed to deliver, if she wanted to be even a tenth of where she saw herself in five years. This was her golden opportunity, and she did not want to leave anything to chance. She had a calculated plan in place, on what to accomplish by which time frame and was satisfied when all was going well,  but she did not factor his intrusion in this. She thought she made it clear to him that they were done with each other, and never wanted to meet ever again.

The first time they chanced upon each other, she was unsure of who she was. She did not know how to identify herself as. She was confused, and was doubting her abilities when he came and annihilated her confidence. She was being called a fluke, a one shot celebrity who chanced upon a great idea once. She was labeled as a failure; yet another  woman who burnt out on luck. Meeting him then brought out the worst in her, as she started believing in what people said. It took her a lot of grit, determination and self belief to realise she is not what the society declared her to be, and she needed to move away from him to make it big. Again.

She was the happiest she could ever be when he wasn’t around, yet she was always drawn to him. Seduced and tempted by him, addicted to the numbness he brought to their dynamic. She spent hours and even days in bed with him, occupied fully by the idea of him, oblivious to the outside world, completely failing her responsibilities as a daughter, friend, sister and everything else that she was. It was easier to believe in the filthy world he constructed for her out of nothingness and vacuum.

But once she broke out of his wizardry, she could see what her purpose in this life was. And she found people who loved her, rooting for her, waiting for her to deliver. People like her editor who was the single ray of sunshine in her life, whom she met at a work party. The Editor who gave an inexperienced amateur writer like her the first break, was the sole reason she could dare enough to quit her corporate job and decide to try her luck as a full time novelist. Now that she wasn’t casual about her future anymore, there was no place in her life for him. She decided in that split second, in that shady motel room, in the outskirts of that sleepy town, that she would do the unthinkable. She would end his existence. He did not deserve to live, if he has as much power to mess with her future.

Taking the ink pen in her left hand and a paper knife in the right, she suddenly turned around. He was sneaking up on her, to surprise her but was in turn shocked to see her determined eyes. She stabbed him repeatedly with the paper knife, screeching and bawling all the pent up frustration in her, not paying heed to the howling cries he made while he collapsed down on the marbled floor. When she was completely satiated and sure that he had no shred of life in him, she got her notepad and sat down on his crumpled form, starting the next chapter of her novel, which was to be delivered next week. She would later decide on the trivialities like how to dispose him.

“Tschüss, meine liebe”, she murmured to the now defeated Mr. Writer’s Block.

 

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Death which caused Happiness

This poem has been written a few months ago, as a submission for the writing prompt received for a writer’s search: “Death which caused Happiness”

She has been flying from one nest to other,

Foraging for the Elixir to save their love.

While he was lost in the maze of the greens,

Waiting to find his way back to her.

 

She thought all will be well,

With the Elixir working its charm on him,

In spite of his wandering away

She did not think of any other way.

 

He wanted her to be different,

He wanted her to stay

But he could not ask her to

For she seemed lost in the sway.

 

So there they stayed,

Away from each other,

Caught in the webs of their own undoing,

Waiting for the other to slay through the tangles of the other’s love.

 

Waiting for each other to reach out to them,

And comfort each other with words,

Words warm enough to melt the knots

Formed In their hearts due to dearth of their satiating embrace.

 

And then it reached the tipping point,

Where each breath inhaled was sheathed by carbon dioxide,

And every step away was taken by feet of stone,

Every minute spent apart seemed to be a time speck of infinite measure.

 

She couldn’t stay away any longer,

Scouring for  the mythical Elixir,

Understanding that the Elixir was anything,

Anything they drank together from the same chalice.

 

And he somehow found his way out of the maze,

The maze in the greens which no one conquered

When she asked how he could do it,

He replied the way out was explained by her to him in another universe.

 

And hence they found each other again,

Despite the havoc created by their own circumstances,

They united against the conspired universe,

Finally slaying the demons of the past, present, and the future.

Death has finally caused Happiness.

Insomniac Rants- (#2 A Million Dreams)

The hustle bustle of cities was nothing new,

for I’ve seen places brimming with traffic quite a few.

But I’ve been overwhelmed with the chaos, the magnanimity of this City

ironically amidst all this, I’ve also found some tranquility.

 

They say you can never forget your firsts

your first love, first heartbreak, first kiss.

So how can I, how can I forget the kiss of uncertainty on my cheeks

when I first moved here, while I was never alone before for more than just a few weeks?

 

The butterflies in my stomach, not due to  the dimpled stud’s interested looks,

But because of the dilapidated library’s sepia colored books.

The tears, for once were not because of heartache,

but due to cutting the café off my bucket list, after finally having their cheesecake.

 

The eyes first wandered, took in all the colors of the City’s bustling energy,

culminated by a million dreams into a soulful synergy

weaved together by ambition, grit and determination

whitewashed over with hope, fueled by their own fixation

of what success should be, also influenced by the society’s dictation.

 

If there’s one thing I’d miss when I move away from you,

It’ll definitely be the salty sea smell of your morning dew.

And a piece of my heart which I’ve exchanged with the sea Gods

for every time the City has taught me to fight against the odds.

 

 

The Pissing Prince and the Patriot

Getting down at the street leading to the GrandPlatz, a sense of relief engulfed me. The moccasins gave me nasty shoe bites and freeing my feet provided much needed solace. The textured sidewalk, while being therapeutic to my sore feet, had an array of shops with display windows selling the famous “Brussels lace”, making the overcast skies less morbid with their intricate and gossamer patterns. Many a graffiti of Tintin, with Snowy and the drunk Captain on the stone buildings greeted me as if to proudly proclaim of the animated reporter’s true pedigree.

 

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Tintin Graffiti on the streets of Brussels

 

Meandering through the streets, I swore by the only travel advice I trained myself to follow: for the complete experience of any new place, follow the crowd. I passed through the coveted Neuhaus, Godiva chocolate stores, savoring their delicate, rich and textured bliss. Belgian chocolate was an obvious choice but the locally famous praline and strawberries covered in flavored heaven were also insanely gratifying.To those who cannot afford the luxury,  there are many locally made rip-offs sold convincingly in equally facsimile ballotins. Trust me, the boss wouldn’t know.

 

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Some of the many flavors of Belgium Chocolate

 

On reaching the GrandPlatz, the celebration of an annual fete immediately made Brussels a fond memory. The City Hall and the King’s House screamed of opulence infused with nuance and made me muse about the innumerable stories the Gothic styled edifices might have witnessed. Further away from the GrandPlatz, in a narrowing street is the famous Manneken Pis. Apparently having had a grander role in the city’s water distribution system, the fountain of a kid pissing is now a token symbol of Brussels’  charm. The life-sized chocolate impressions adorned around the shop displays of the naked child, however, took a little time for me to get accustomed to.

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Manneken Pis

The Pissing Prince might have stolen my heart, but pieces of my soul were impregnated forever across the city like Voldemort’s Horcruxes, at various pit stops made in the short visit to Brussels on my way to Cologne. After a hearty meal of the “French” fries (which are actually Belgian) and generously topped Belgian chocolate Waffles, I realized how time here had an underlying dimension of an epicurean undercurrent. Going back, while touching the famous patriot’s statue  (only to later overhear that the original Everard t’Serclaes was removed for restoration), I only wished for what was utterly obvious. A chance for me to return to this magical feeling I call home.

The Dots Game

I felt home where I grew up all my life, because I knew no different. I felt home while I was nowhere and on the way to somewhere, but then I was confused.

Confused, because how do you feel home, when you aren’t where you’ve lived all your life? How does it feel so right, to be away from familiarity and nostalgia?

The Being then answered for me, “It feels right because it is your Destiny and your Desire to move beyond where you were planted. Your Destiny is shining through places you’ve not yet heard of, places you don’t even know of. And your Desire to belong is fueling the journey, through your weak moments.”

“But for now my dear, keep seeking. You only know where you’re headed next. You are in a dot to dot game you played as a kid. But now, you are the dots and I am the player. “ said the Being.

As naive as it sounds, I believed the Being. For the Being is my Creator, my Mother, my Father and my Soul.

And I, I started moving from one dot to another, fully conscious of the path I was meandering, for the ultimate Happiness lies in the journey,  not at the Destination.

I am happy where I am. I stopped pondering over the What ifs and instead look for the What nows. For, the biggest opportunity of your life lies with you now. This moment is the only truth. Everything else is either set in stone, or uncertain.

This is where I wanted to be. This is where I dreamt I’d spend my days. Because sweetheart, home is not a place. It’s a sense of belonging. And I am home whenever I am one with the Being.

Insomniac Rants- (#1 Moving Out)

Early Mornings. Sleepless Travel.

Tired Eyes. Long way Home.

Sleepy Bodies.

Broken Photo Frames. Shattered Hearts.

Unresolved Emotions. Indefinite Waits.

Half-hearted Breakfasts.

Quick Showers. Same Clothes.

Hasty Cleaning. Sudsy Mopping. Slippery Floors.

Never ending Procrastinated To-Do Lists.

Selfish Humans. Silent side looks.

Fake Smiles. Predictable Mondays.

Concrete Jungles. Comfortable Cabins in the Glass Prisons.

Busy Managers. Much needed breaks.

No one to know you. No one who knows you.

No warm hugs from Ma.

No silly banter with the Sibling.

No pampering  by Papa.

 

But Also:

 

Loud Karaokes. Impromptu Booty Shakes.

Shabby Beanbags. Colorful Cushions. Pink Curtains.

Weekend Getaways.  Solo Street Shopping.

Frilly Pillow Covers. Tangled Earrings.

Favorite Ink Pens. Funky Diaries.

A Book on the Bedside. A toy Crocodile for Paperweight.

Oldest Pajamas. Baggy T-Shirts.

Cold Shoulder tops. Chunky Chokers.

Whole Kitchen for the ChocoLava Experiment.

Bathroom Mirror for that Steady Winged Eyeliner.

 

Cluelessness. Helplessness. Loneliness.

Or

Freedom to be however you please. Choice to do whatever you want. Living the DREAM.

 

It is all in how you look at it!

Skyscrapers

My first attempt at poetry, written today at the Writer’s Carnival in Hyderabad. 🙂

Skyscrapers lined on the roadside, on the way back home,

reminder of all the people still trapped inside the glass walls.

Typing away furiously, looking to get their tasks finished,

waiting for the nod from His Highness, just so they can find the ways back to their  loved ones,

And then like me, look at the Skyscrapers lined on their way back home,

And be reminded of all the other souls still trapped inside the glass prisons.