Too Late to Retrace Your Step...

What did life want now? It was all she could think of. She wanted to shake alive every dormant incident that she had hidden in the corners of the darkest rooms of her mind and think about what was left that she had to offer to life to take away forever.. any other thing that she could stack away in those dark rooms, whose doors when opened made her wince with embarrassment at her juvenile stupidity, those mistakes she wished she'd never made. She was always regarded as the one who grew up way to fast. Wisdom dawned her aura, her presence and yet it seemed as if the child deep within her surfaced too often, trying to live a life it never could, making that worldly knowledge of people curtain itself as if almost unwilling to disturb the child in her at its best. But like I said, wisdom dawned her aura. When she was looked at it was not her stunningly beautiful face framed by waves of long black hair that people noticed first. It was the intimidating feeling that washed through them, an unwillingness to know what lay behind those eyes, beneath the surface. She had heard men talking about how much they loved a woman who had an untouched innocence about them. Little did she know that it was exactly the opposite of THAT some daring men found most appealing about her. No, it couldn't be described as "repelling maturity"... It was the confidence with she walked, the few second glances at people by which she could easily tell who they were on the inside, the way she completed everybody's sentences, knowing exactly what they wanted to say (better than they did) because she had gone through it all. Life as she knew it had been unkind to her often, but like the millions of lessons she had learnt, she knew that it was because of that unkindness that she was not just any other woman in any man's life. She was who she wanted to be, always holding the upper hand, the one who passively controlled and moulded things around her. That was the strength of her aura, something no one had ever been able to take from her.

But today, she sat down quietly wondering why the past was trying to become her present now. She wondered why the people she had let go off an eternity ago wanted to be a part of her life now. Didn't they know that things would never be the same? Or did they think she was weak because she had chosen to let go and run away. Devyangani had always known that she was never the weak one. Over the years she had learnt that neither running away or letting go were signs of weakness and cowardice because she was one of the few who knew inside out the courage and strength it took to let go and move on and try and forget something she'd held on to so strongly. And every time those things knocked at her door, she knew how much strength it took to shove them out, to tell herself that there was no room for second thoughts to cross her mind. She knew how much strength it took to remind herself time and again that there were some things she never did. Going back on a word she had promised herself was one of them. So yes, there was no turning back! There never would be even if she sometimes wished she could.

But today was different. It wasn't any other past that had turned up at her door. No, it wasn't that friend who had once betrayed. No, it wasn't that sister who didn't care. And no, it wasn't that family that once turned their back. She winced at the thought of who it was. As she wrecked the shelves of the library of her journals of memories, she remembered an old friend who'd been with her through it all. She remembered the words that had once slipped her tongue. . Its never going to leave you alone. It will tag along one day and you'll find yourself right where you were in the first place.. She had been right about the first part. That past had never left her. It always came back every few years for reasons she did not know. For reasons, she didn't want to know for her sake. But that friend had been wrong about the second part. It didn't leave her where she had started. She was miles away from the beginning because the void had been filled up by experience and wisdom. Every time that past knocked on the door, she found herself beckoning the strength everyone knew she had. The power to never look back, never go back on her word was like swearing on blood. And so she walked away every time. And she didn't care who thought she was weak. Because she always knew that walking away had always been an option, but she was never the reason she had made it her choice.

Happy Birthday To ME! :D

Its ten minutes past midnight and my birthday is officially over. BUT nevertheless it was a GREAT one. After answering MILLIONS of texts and facebook wall posts and HUNDREDS of calls from friends and family, I feel special. Really really special.

Nilanjana, your letter made my day. Yes, it brought tears to my eyes. And it means so much. Thank You so much for making me feel so special. I love you! <3

Thank You Puni for the ferror rocher that you got me this morning. I didn't think you'd remember how much I love chocolate, especially ferror! :) It was better than the chocolate cake I cut on my birthday!

Thank You Unnati for that amazing hug and that deep conversation we had during break. Thank You for THAT feeling! :)

Thank You Anjalee for trying to make plans with me. I know how much celebrating my birthday meant to you. Yes, I know, I preferred going to AVTE for a Math class, but you know me. I don't miss any of my classes there. Not even for a sweet 16! :P

And SIIIIIIIIIID! I love you! Thank You for wishing me the maximum number of times today! And every time you wished me, you had the same tone of excitement!

I love you guys! :)

Falling in love with the rain.. :)

This year seems to be getting better now. Finally! No really.. FINALLY!!! I just hope if it doesn't get any better, it just stays the way it is. *sigh*

My school bus was late today. AGAIN. Not something new, but today I didn't mind for a change. Despite the rain.

I've never really liked the rain, the wet and sticky feeling, unless I'm actually allowed to get soaked in the rain and play like a kid for hours and hours in never ending showers! Today I finally got a window seat in the bus (you never really get one because the 12th graders annoy you till you get up). And weirdly enough I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. I was in one of those moods, when good memories just randomly hit your thoughts, like they're racing against each other to be remembered.. To be remembered for their innocence, their power to make you smile no matter how far you are from reliving those memories all over again. Throughout the bus ride home, I had my hand slightly out of the window, allowing the rain drops to touch my skin and make their way down my wrist to my elbow. Every drop that touched my skin, just had this special warmth to them, a sharp contrast to the coolness of their actual temperature. And every memory that came to my mind, like those rain-drops filled me with this warmth.. made me smile (Yes, I looked stupid smiling all by myself through a window seat in the bus) and the coolness of every drop calmed me down, stopped me from suffering from those bouts of nostalgia that sometimes make me sick. And these were memories of such a long time ago. From when I was a kid. They were about dreams I've had, the most embarrassing moments of my life as much as I've lived it till now, the good of the bad experiences.. And I realized how much I never wanted to grow up so fast. Ironically, I'm going to turn 16 tomorrow. How I wish I could be a kid for so much more time. I just can't seem to get enough of being young! :)

And there you have it, I'm in love with the rain all over again. :)

And Light Never Ceases to Find the Dark...

I've been in this room for days now. Its dark. So dark that I don't see any point in opening my eyes, because there's nothing left to see, there's nothing that I CAN see. I've confined myself to a cold corner, where all I can do is rest against the wall and only hope and pray for someone to find me, someone to pick me up, because I seem to have lost everything to the darkness around me. I cannot cry because there's no one to hear me, there's no one to wipe the tears.. and I'm not strong enough to be my own reassurance. Something seems to have forced the doors of mind to close, and I don't know what's keeping them shut. I try and search within me, a power, a strength that I can summon, hoping that there is one. The strength that the greatest of people talk about and the weakest, don't know about.

And once again with my eyes closed, with a search left incomplete, I fall asleep to wake up hours later to the black light of the dark.

I wake up to a shiver that runs down my entire cold, rigid body. I can feel a wind blowing through a window in the room. I just don't know where it is. I hug myself as if it were all I needed, but it only grows colder. I open my eyes, slowly, blinking too often for the first few seconds. It takes a little while for my eyes to adjust. I look around the room, looking for a blanket or a rag for that matter- ANYTHING that could provide the tiniest bit of warmth. I see that a small sheet is lying on a chair few steps away. I crawl on my knees, and keeping myself a bit too far away, I reach for it, trying to drop it to the floor, so that I can just drag it to myself. As I wrap myself in the only blessing I can feel, I open the doors of my mind. I realize that I'm sick of being helpless. If there's something I've learnt in life, its that our mind can be forced to think what we want it to. And for the first time in days, I force myself to think. Despite the darkness, I CAN see. Not much, but I can. The curtain of the shattered window on the opposite wall was ghostly in the dim moonlight as it flew violently up and down the pane. I don't know when I fell asleep again, but it was for a longer time and I was more relaxed when I got up.

I don't remember being in this room now. Why? Because it isn't dark anymore. I wince trying to run away from the light because it hurts my eyes. I try to scramble into any dark corner so that none of the light touches me. I don't think I'm in the same room, but the I can still see that chair and the broken window, that threw light into the entire room.

It was then that it hit me. The room hadn't been dark forever. It hadn't been a curse. It was me. The problem was within me. I just refused to open my eyes and see that every morning light blasted into this room, throwing into it life. I realized then, that every morning that I had spent on the floor, closing my eyes to what I THOUGHT was around me, I had missed what I had hoped for. And once again, I realize that the darkness wasn't just in the room. It had seeped into the depth of my soul, leaving me bitter. I then realized why I was running away from the light. It was because I had made myself believe that I was born from the dark, that I was destined to be a part of it. How pathetic that made me feel now.

I stay still for a while. I let my body embrace the light. And as I get up to leave the room, these are the only thoughts that cross my mind..


As victory follows defeat,
And hatred love,
As smiles follow tears,
And memories, the present,
The Dark craves Light like,
A drought's thirst.

And the Light never ceases to find the Dark.

Silent Victory..

In silence I won a long fought war.
Victory throws its golden light upon me.
I walk with my head held high,
Among people who bow theirs in my presence.
Here's to silent victory.

There's a reason. Yes there is.

I've had a lot of people ask me why I throw away most of my journals and diaries, why I've never really felt attached to things so personal and so close and how I can just throw them away with the rest of the junk I throw out every single day, sometimes even burn them so that no one gets to peep into my life and know what I'm all about on the inside. This year, I promised a friend that I wouldn't, that I'd give it to her instead, for her to keep for the sake of my memories.

Every year that I write a journal, I realize so much about life, sometimes in the most unwanted and unwished for of ways that keeping the memories so close almost hurts as much. Keeping that diary around makes me want to read it, makes me want to relive a past that has its own good and bad. Its not the bad that I regret. Its the sinking feeling of realization that hits me time and again with the same impact. Its hard to believe that some things in life never die, some feelings can never be forgotten even if you don't feel the same at that very moment. Some lessons leave a mark so deep that as time passes you treasure that lesson, that mark with your life.

A simple thought

I ride with the tides of time, not against them. If they wash me ashore, I don't wage wars with the currents!

Because I wanted to forget tonight...

I had never been drunk before. NEVER. I had never forced the bitter taste down my throat just for the heck of it. NEVER. I had never wanted to be reckless and uncontrollable. NEVER. Some thought that it was an act, others thought that I was immature. I'd rather be the latter, I'd never wanted to grow up so fast. But today, I sat quietly at the bar, drowning myself in the overpowering strength of the bitterness that rotted the taste on my tongue, burning my insides as I tried to gulp it down faster every time. I didn't like the taste though I marveled the way it played with my head. Thoughts were a blur, exactly how I wished they were all the time. The irony. Today, I wanted to sleep. Tomorrow I wanted to get up, not remembering what I did, not remembering tonight before it happened, not remembering the person I was just now. Why? Because I wanted to forget tonight.

I was alone. I stared at the cardboard box infront of me. Memories. Thats what it was full off. Memories of her. Her... He couldn't forget her. And it killed me because I could never hold her place. It killed me because he held THAT place in me. Today, she came back. And the memories he stored away in that box, it seemed, took a long deep breath, that blew my way, in strong gusts of winds, the black blinding smoke of a crowded past I could never make him forget. I played with his favorite lighter. He always kept it on the bar in a small custom made box. I made a small game of the sparks I saw, every second one bursting into a sudden tiny flame. My aim usually sucked. I could almost never catch a ball before it hit my head, or throw it to someone before it hit theirs. Today, as I threw the lighter into the box, I couldn't help but think how wrong I had been about my aim. I saw the box burn to ashes. The fire dying as soon as every page of every journal, every picture of every moment he cherished, every souvenir of a long lost love, was lost in the tides of hatred and revenge. I knew she was never going to stay. I knew she was going to kill the remnants of every little hope he had had for them. I knew and he did too, but I wasn't going to wait for anything to sink in.

I knew I had killed a part of him just there. Every little thing he had held on to, every little thing he thought he would for an eternity that would end only with him had been brutally stabbed until they bled through and in flames of hurt. I had killed a part of him right there. And as I walked out the door, I left that part of him on the floor, only to be discovered by someone who wouldn't be able to kill himself, or live with the nothingness I had created by burning away forever his only identity.

Because I wanted to forget tonight...

She...

Her name came with a set of beliefs and misbeliefs. There were some whose hopeless faith in her was carried by winds of weakness, sometimes of over-confidence and self-reliance. They didn't believe she was there; regarded her as a fictional element of dreamers, poets and writers who found peace in her unearthly existence; found peace in a world of their own making where she was there.. everywhere, fixing their mistakes, not her own.

And there were those, whose faith in her kept dying and coming to life, time and again, just as things went right or wrong, just as life went up and down. It couldn't stay. It was worse than not being believed in at all. The blame, the curses, the harshness and indifference to her love. She cared. Always did and despite the brutality, always would. But there were some things she couldn't control-The fruits of their actions. It was hard to disobey the one above her, the one who drew her path, the path she would follow without a single question asked. The path-they didn't believe would always end in its best way. Sometimes they just gave up before she reached the end destined for them.

She was Destiny. And no matter what, she was always there with them and for them. She kept her biggest and strongest promise- to help them fulfill theirs. She broke links and connections they'd tried so hard to throw out of their lives and kept those that were destined to be entangled forever. The one above her was fair and just, he drew her path in the very same way.

I believe in you DESTINY!

My Black Hijab

I had grown up away from my homeland as far as I could remember. The only memories I had of as a kid, was of this place. We had fled our homeland many years ago. I was young, a year old I suppose, maybe younger. I remember my parents telling me I had celebrated my first birthday here .

There were many others like us. A few families lived down the street, but yet no one could say that we had THAT common bond-we were so different. The women never left their homes and we never got to see their faces. Sometimes you could see their eyes when they weren't netted under their burquas. But that was rare.

Sometimes when their families would join us for dinner, the men asked their women to go upstairs. They weren't allowed to eat with the rest of us. They would shoot glances at my father for doing the same and my mother would get up from the table, hesitantly and reluctantly but not wanting to earn disapproval in this part of our social circle. But my father. He would comfortably sit down in his chair and hold my mother's hand at the table and stop her as soon as he felt her rising. He smiled at his friends and would say, " Bhai, there is nothing wrong with having a woman on your right, eating the same food at the same time. Nur will be eating with us at this table." The glances turned into 'few-second stares' at my father, mother, his hand on hers and then each other. That would be the end of the discussion. My mother sensing the awkwardness would smile at my father. She was a lucky woman, I was a lucky daughter, only because he was a different man.

After serving dinner, mother would join the women upstairs, excusing herself for some womanly talks. My mother's head was uncovered, unlike theirs ofcourse and the women smiled enviously at her freedom and luck.

Somehow, as I grew, I insisted on wearing my black hijab. Occasionally I would cover my face, letting only my eyes devour the world, and letting the strangers around feast their eyes to the beauty of mine lined darkly with black Kohl.

" Mashallah!" Many of our kind had exclaimed before. My eyes, the only things on my face I appreciated. Probably the compliments had gotten to me. But I loved them. I loved how they talked for me. Probably thats why I liked letting them speak for me.

My father didn't particularly like it. He was different. He thought I was doing it because I felt out of place among our kind. But that was NOT my reason. I wore it because I somehow felt closer to who I was. I wasn't ashamed of it. I always believed that it was a choice that I had made to be different. I loved being the one with a difference.

I didn't wear my hijab too often. It was something I wore on occasion when I felt like being the one people were intrigued with. There was one particular place in the city-the spice market-where I always covered my face. Thousands of eyes followed. Some stared until I pierced them with a sudden look of mine, right into their eyes. I'd had people look back almost a second later, their head oscillating between what was in their hand or what they were doing and my covered face. There was one particular shop my mother always took me to, where she believed the rarest of the spices were always there. The owner-Mrs. Desai- and my mother were well-acquainted, actually they were friends now. For many years now my mother had been coming to this very store, every month on the same date to buy spices. Our families often had tea together, dinner occasionally.

Today, as I stood behind mother, I noticed a young handsome figure standing beside Mrs. Desai. His back was towards us, his muscular arms bare in his vest, as he talked in a fast British accent on the phone. Mother and Mrs. Desai started with their customary ritual of gossip. Mrs. Desai patted the figure beside her and he turned around to look at her, a distracted stammer now escaping his mouth.

"Put the phone down now will you? You hardly ever visit and now when you're here you don't give me a fair share of time." Mrs. Desai complained.

"Yeah.. Uh.. Uh.. I will talk to you later. In the evening. Yes. Yes. Okay. Take Care." He said into the phone. " What do you mean I haven't given you enough time? I've been here all week and this is my first call in 6 days."

"I'm a mother. That will never be enough."

He sighed and hugged her. It was a rare, unseen, honest gesture and it made me smile. His eyes caught mine looking and he probably could tell I was smiling. He let go off his mother, who was already talking to mine in a fast, chatty voice. Mother opened the small door on the side that led to the other side of the counter and both the ladies went in through the curtained door to have tea inside the house.

" You're mom, she isn't wearing a.. wearing a.. Umm.. " He scrambled about in his head looking for the right word. His voice was a nice and deep.

"Hijab " I answered in a quiet voice, slightly intrigued about what he was going to say next.

"Oh. Yes. She isn't wearing that. Why are you?"

"Its a choice."

He looked at me with an expression I couldn't tell apart from confused and bewildered or unbelieving.

" A choice? That's a first."

" I love the air of mystery it creates around me." I laughed.

"I would know." He admitted. He was looking me right in the eye now. I stared back.

"I like being different." I said. " I think its a part of me somewhere. I don't wear it all the time. But for some reason I always wear it when I come to this market, to this store."

"Your eyes." He blinked a couple of times as he said that. "What color are they? Jade green or are they kind of grey?" He was staring intently now. " Excuse my manners. I shouldn't stare. I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you were saying."

I grinned. This was interesting. " I said I don't wear my hijab all the time. But I'm always wearing it when I'm here. "

"Any particular reason?"

"No, not really." I'd never known the reason.

"Is there any chance you might make an exception today?" He teased.

" Is there some reason I should?"

"Yes, I only tend to customers who I can actually see and talk to and whose voices aren't slightly muffled by a piece of cloth." He teased.

"Well, in that case, I'm sorry to disappoint you. My mother is the customer actually. I'm just helping and keeping her company."

"By the looks of it, she already has some right now." He motioned to the door they'd gone through. "If you're helping, you might just buy whatever it is that she needs to. She'll be back by then."

I rolled my eyes and turned around. I heard him chuckle. I walked around the first counter on my right, picked up a small basket and walked around the store collecting packets of spices that flavored our food. I placed the basket on the counter.

"How much will that be?"

It took a while for him to finally pay attention to what I was saying. He smiled. I had a feeling it wasn't for me but for himself. I watched him bill everything and place it in a brown paper bag.

" $43.50"

As he handed the change to me, I picked up my paper bag and mother walked out followed my Mrs. Desai.

"Yes. Yes. No excuses. Dinner at my place tomorrow night." Mother's invitation was more familial than anything else. " Oh, you have the stuff already. I hope Kunal kept you company." A teasing grin spread across the faces of both the old women.

"Mrs. Desai and you ammi! " I sighed. " Namaste Aunty." And we walked out the entrance of the shop, the bell on the door ringing as we opened it.

Later that evening my mother swore she saw Kunal staring.. no GAPING at me. I ignored her teasing. But inside, I felt an eagerness to see him the following night.

************

Dinners at our place were never a quiet event. Mom loved cooking and all day she cooked and cleaned and washed with willingness. When father got home from work, he quickly dressed for it was almost time for the guests to arrive. I had helped mother set the table right after I got back from a party with my mates at university. I didn't really feel like changing but went upstairs for I was overdressed for the occasion. The black piece of cloth was still hanging over the nail on the frame of my dressing table. I had half a smiling thought to wear it again tonight. But instead took out a light blue and white one for the night. It matched the fawn colored jeans and blue shirt that I was wearing. As I pinned the cloth across my face, covering everything below my eyes, I heard a faint knock on my door.

"Come in." I answered the knock quickly. I was in a hurry to attend on to the guests despite my lazy self. I soon realized that I wouldn't be going down for a while now.

"They told me you were in your room. I would have waited but who wants to sit and talk to oldies." His deep voice was quieter today. These are the moments I hate, when my eyes give away emotions I want to keep to myself. I stared at him. His collared shirt, sleeves rolled up, fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His hair-light brown- weren't properly combed, just brushed with his fingers I suppose. The shirt wasn't completely buttoned up and I could see a hint of his chiseled chest.

"I thought you don't wear your.. um.. hijab all the time. Why now? You're not in store anymore." He tried to make conversation again.

This time I answered. "Yes, but I like having people intrigued by me."

"I would say you like attention. Mind if I make myself at home?" He teased.

"Please do. And maybe you're right. I haven't really thought about it." I sat on my dressing table chair, and looking into the mirror I put the last pin in place.

It was quiet for a while. And I took a little more time to settle my hijab. It wasn't long. I didn't like the ones that covered half of my upper torso.

I saw his reflection staring at me in the mirror. I turned around to face him, hoping he would start some conversation but knowing it was my turn.

"So is it difficult, wearing it?" He asked.

"Not really. You have to be careful while putting the pins in place." I was weirdly relieved.

"Do you have matching ones for every dress you own. Like girls collect bags and scarfs?" He laughed.

"I have my share of the bags and scarfs.. and shoes. But these, I have four. The black one's my favorite." I said lightly. I motioned to the light green and cream colored ones folded on my table.

"Mine too." There was something about the way he looked at me then. I couldn't make out what it was because I'd never had someone look at me that way.

"Uhmm.. okay!?" I wasn't sure about what to say.

For a while, we sat quietly. I tried not to meet his gaze.

"We should join the others for dinner." I managed to say without stuttering.

I stood up and he followed. But before we reached the door, he caught hold of my elbow and with the slightest strength pushed me against the wall next to the table. My heart pounded as his eyes bore into mine.

"Now, just hold on one second." He unpinned the hijab and as the cloth fell across my face, this time revealing what I was hiding behind it, a low gasp escaped his lips. I felt his hand brush against my cheek with the slightest touch.

You're beautiful was all he managed to say. I could feel my cheeks burn and I was sure they were the color of blood by now. His hand felt cold. For a while, his eyes lingered on my lips. I was biting them nervously. A few moments later, he pinned back the piece of cloth.

" You know, I wouldn't blame you if you wore that all the time. It makes it easier to resist you." He looked away and went back to sit on the bed. " By the way, black looks better."

**************

I've been married to Kunal for six years now. For six years, I've been wearing my hijab whenever I've wanted to. I've been walking beside a man, who is more than happy to accept how I feel about my identity, who is proud to walk aside someone who believes being different is her right. There's something else that hasn't changed though. Something that I hope never will. Something that reassures me that its not necessary for the magic to die after being together for so long. Everytime he unpins my black hijab, a low gasp escapes his lips and I can hear how much he means it when he says he thinks I'm beautiful. When he stays up long nights with me, making me coffee so I don't fall asleep, I know he knows how much my priorities and freedom mean to me. I can feel the pride in his voice when he says, She's the one, always will be.

Its better to not care!

Have you ever been in one of those moods when the only thing that can give you pleasure is someone else's hurt? Have you ever felt like being the cause of someone else's pain- Someone who you hate from the depths of a heart that you didn't know could hate so much... Have you ever felt sadistic pleasure at the thought of someone's pain-stricken face washed by fast coming tears that can't seem to stop with the most consoling words? Have you ever wished to see someone beg you to free them from hurt and guilt only you have the power to control? Have sweet memories ever been the cause for bitter revenge? Has hatred ever plagued your soul enough to make you crave the cry of a broken heart, the frustration of a confused mind being played games with, the anger of being lied to, the whimper of hurt screaming out of the chest. Have you ever felt like seeing someone wanting to say something but have him not able to because of a feeling clutching his throat like rocks forcefully shoved down? Have you ever wanted to see yourself have the upper hand over someone you let go off your pride and ego for?

Have I ever felt like that? YES!!!
Rightly said, "I'd rather have someone hate me than not care at all. Because as long as he hates me, I know I make a difference."

So, I'd rather not care at all.

....

When the echoes of your pain hurt as much as the wounds themselves...

The Script

A couple of months ago, I started listening to a band called The Script. I'm sure you must have heard The Man Who Can't be Moved and Break Even. Incase you haven't, please do. Amazing songs, amazing lyrics and the lead singer has an amazing voice. Perfect!

About two days ago, my friend made me listen to another of their songs. Its called Live Like We're Dying. Now, this has to be my favorite. Everything about the song, especially the lyrics, mean something. Its the kind of song that brings a smile to my face, makes me want to make the most of all the time I have, make it so worthwhile. It passively gives out the message that its never too late to LIVE, in the literal meaning of the word. Don't know what I'm talking about? Well then, here you go. :)