If I could, I would - II

Click here to read the Part - 1


"You are early today. "

He says, not exactly meaning it to be a question.

It takes all my will power in that split second, to stop myself from replying with a "It’s none of your business, is it?"

I can almost see Ma shaking her head in disapproval, annoyed to see her daughter acting so rudely.
Instead, I go on auto-pilot. My eyes meet his, I smile, nod and then, I turn back towards the road, hoping that he will get the message.

When did I become like this?

Why have I become so cynical that every unnecessary conversation seems to be a direct path to confrontations?

Having to draw a boundary so that no stranger becomes a part of the routine.

No saying "Hi" every day. No talking about weather. And certainly no explaining if and why I am early on any day. The freedom of walking away from people and relationships.

There is disappointed idealist behind every cynic, they say.

Why do I run away from even the slightest hint of a bond?

It has been ages, yet, I can still hear someone say - "when was the last time a stranger broke your heart"
Strangers indeed don’t break your heart, as long as they stay strangers. He wasn’t a stranger. And see where I am today. I wait, I will for the phone in my pocket to ring.

I wish, I pray that he would call. Just to hear that voice again. Even though ...

Have you ever had your heart broken by someone you can’t bring yourself to hate? Even when they scar you for life? make you wary of everything you get attached to?

Have you ever loved someone so much, that all you can remember is the rhythm of their heart beating as they hold you in their arms.

The actual feeling of their being? Being able to just close your eyes and trace them with your fingers? Even when years have gone since you sat next to them...

Why is it that we can’t bring ourselves to stop loving someone even when we hate them for showing us exactly how vulnerable we are, we were.

Some say love needs sacrifice. Sacrificing our wish for someone else’s.

But is there anything that can be termed as sacrifice?

All we make are choices. Sometimes we like to sugar-coat them, calling it a sacrifice.

If I am ready to give my life for someone, then obviously I would rather have them living than myself. How can it be termed a sacrifice?


You are willing to stay hungry to feed your child, because that makes you happier.

A soldier dies for his country, because his honor is dearer to him.

We are selfish to our cores.

We always do what we ultimately want to do.

Breaking someone’s heart, or getting our broken.

If I was writing a story, I would make myself shed a silent tear. But then, crying is so damn tough. Blessedly, the skies open up and rain comes lashing. I hear people scrambling to get under the meagre shades.

I stay put, feeling the heavenly droplets washing away the death off me. Death of a part that will always be mine, even when it starts festering

Still wishing for the phone to ring with that familiar tune.

Still wishing I could call.

But then, if I could, I would...



To be continued ... soon... or may be not...
=====================

©2010 by Chhaya. All Rights Reserved

PS: kindly read this just a piece of writing. Nothing personal about this one :)... and yes, the image is googled.

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The Last Bus

Standing barefoot.
Barren, huge crossroad.
They say it stops here,
the bus you are on.

Clutching, the doll you gave me
on my birthday the year before.
I try not to stain it –
for my hands are
bleeding from the sores.
knees skinned to the bones shake a little
cruel, lonely it was –
the road from home.

Biting my lips, to stall the pain
burying my face in the doll –
there is still that smell of you
the fragrance of safety,
the mirage of childhood.
Inhaling,
just a bit.
Too greedy to save it all.

It starts to rain
and I feel so cold.
Proud, defying – waiting.
I stand my ground
not for victory but to
hide my shame.
The tears
drown me a bit more.
There is nothing left,
even my shadow is impure.

Its getting darker
the birds are all gone.
I watch other kids, just like me but –
jumping all the way to their homes.
Some stand and stare at my rags
laughing at my doll.
Mock my dirty feet -
but my eyes, they all ignore

And then I am left alone,
at the crossroads
just like the evening before.
I am scared now–
wont you come back for me?
the last bus from heaven,
doesn’t stop here anymore?

© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

I wrote this poem more than a year back. I didn’t have enough readers back then so I am re-posting it.

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Sisters

She watches the little one,
looking out of the window.
The worn out doll,
clutched tight.
Too young to understand, yet
deep within, does she know?

Her heart aches more than her arms,
cradling the kid all night long.
Having to grow up in a moment,
her own childhood gone.
The tears remain unshed,
for ever and more.

"Can you call mommy again?
She should be home by now."
Innocent eyes look up to her.
Trusting the world’s
convenient lies.

She tries to hold her close
and whisper the truth,
as it should be told.
"She won’t answer the phone, little one.
Mom is not coming home anymore"

© Chhaya


image by William Adolphe Bouguereau (Two Sisters)

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the Month of the Departed

Yes, I have always had this habit of vanishing without a warning. I am like this even in my offline life. Sticking to one thing and one place has always been a struggle for me. Strings scare me. Visible or otherwise.

Still, if you wanna know why I have been inactive for almost a month, then here are a few reasons I can think of –

First of all, work pressure was simply mind-numbing. I was trying hard to find that 1441st minute in the day. Never could.

And then I fell sick. I mean, really sick. (why does the word –sick, always sound like a dirty word to me?) Fever, cold, cough, breathing troubles and an insane headache that simply refused to go away. Had a Swine Flu scare too, but thankfully I didn’t have H1N1 infection. It was perhaps just the simple Flu trying to tell me that it can be as painful as the Pig version!

But the most disturbing thing that happened was that one of my Grandparents passed away. I know, Death is inevitable. I have no beef with the Grim Reaper. We have made our peace a long time back.

December is the month when he likes to visit. Plucking away a few people from my life.

I have lost too many to this Month. People who mean something to me. Sometimes more than something. Its the Month of the Departed for me....

A friend asked if we were close. I found myself at loss for words. How close is considered to be close? If you go by the society’s parameters then I don’t think I am close to anyone in my life. There is just 1 exception to that. If you know me then you know who that person is.

I am still to shed a tear. Don’t think I am going to. (I can sense one of my regular readers shaking his head and saying – u gotta cry girl). The reason is – I had sensed it coming. I knew I was going to lose that person. I had even talked about it with one of you. And this is the part that disturbs me the most. Every time I am about to lose someone, or every time something terrible is going to happen to me, I always sense it a few days in advance. I don’t know how it happens. Perhaps it happens to everyone.

I never try to stop it from happening or think about it like they show in the movies. It’s disturbing.

There is more to write, but I am saving it for the next post. Gotta have something to share :)

Love
Chhaya

The image is Googled

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Just Friends

The smiles we shared
and some tears unshed.
´Just friends´
with a shrug of shoulders,
Always, we claimed.

My heart never stopped,
when you held me close.
It was bliss.
You were my home.
The extension of my soul.

Your thoughts never
made my nights sleepless.
Far away, in the darkness,
endless conversations.
Eloquent silence.

Losing you to the sense
of wrong and right,
isn’t the end of the world.
Then why to me
it feels like?

© 2009 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Being a Freak... getting Personal

If you have followed my blog during last (almost) 2 years then you may have noticed that I am not very regular. I tend to vanish for weeks, sometimes months. The problem is – I find it really difficult to open up in front of others. No, I am not afraid of talking to strangers.

There have been times when I have walked up to a complete stranger and asked – “hey, from where did you buy that T-shirt”... (the guy was totally shocked when I did that .. lol...). I maintain full eye contact when I talk.. I am certainly not scared of men or eve-teasers. Or insects/dark/blood/ghosts/thuders etc etc..

I am afraid of being judged and then branded – “weird” in this little space I have.

There are very few people from my “real” life who know that I write. For the world, I am this techie who is a math and science geek during the day. Why do I hide? Why don’t I wanna be known as the girl who can juggle numbers and words alike (well... I am not exactly a “Writer” writer... I know that)?

I hide because I would rather die than let ‘em know that I bleed when I am punched. It’s one of those things that you get when you are raised in a crooked way... the way I was. Sometimes I wonder if my tear-glands even work.

There is no going back once I post this entry. I am opening a door that I have braced with all my might. I don’t even know why I am doing it, why I am opening it now. I have been writing for last 3 years. I have written stories and poems ... all fiction. But is there anything called fiction in this world? It’s just a part of your soul that you disguise with perfect and sometimes not-so-perfect words.

My last poem (Atonement) was almost a scream. After spending more than two decades trying to be a good girl (and succeeding, if you go by the society’s measuring tape), I am finally realizing the fact that there is something really wrong with me. I keep trying to convince myself that everyone feels that way. That everyone hurts....

The worst thing about being a freak is when you start talking about yourself, when you finally open up.. people think you are bragging. Or they think you are this evil person...
Those who get attracted (I don’t mean just the romantic sort of attraction) to you like you for the fact that you are different. They like you because you can talk and act smart.. smarter than them, most of the time.. but the moment you start breathing again... whooooosh.. they wanna ‘fix’ you.. They want you to be a normal person who reacts in a predictable way to a crisis.. or to happiness – to life.

I have caused some nasty things to happen .. to the people I have cared for. I have caused broken relationships.. and I have lost friends just bcz their significant halves felt threatened.. It hurts.. hurts bad. And then I sit back and wonder.. what did I do? More about that later....

Right now.. I have almost no friend in my own age-group.... I just can't relate to them...

I don’t think I made much sense here.. the fact is, I have held back.. held back a lot. If you thought I was bragging then you know what I mean.. This is exactly the reason I don’t write personal stuff here..

I wanna tell people what I like.. I wanna share my favourite stories.. I wanna tell everyone that I finished the complete works of Dostoyevsky before I tuned 14... I wanna share my passion for firearms.. for math.. for crazy weather.. for .....

Perhaps I am testing the waters... I don’t know if I will take the plunge..
It’s Scary.. Letting people know you.

- Chhaya
Mumbai, India

PS: That’s not me in the image :)

PS2: I am absolutely NOT looking for sympathies!!!! I would rather kill myself than change the way i am!!

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Part II - Fact, Fiction...

New Delhi, evening of a random day in the month of August, a few years back

What gets you through a day? Work? Or the wait for the moment when you will be let off to go home to someone who would be waiting for you? Or someone you would wait for.

Have you ever waited for the work hours to be over just so that you can enjoy the time it takes you to reach the place you sleep at?

I must leave. Those crowded buses seem to be the place to find the perfect solitude. I look out of the glass window. The sky is getting dark. It’s not my usual time to leave… but what the heck…

The same road looks unfamiliar in the twilight. As unfamiliar as this city, even after years. The tiny cell-phone sits snugly in my back pocket.

Have you ever wondered how easy it is to talk to someone if you want to? But what do you do when all you want to share is the silence? Have you ever waited for someone to call so that you don’t look like someone who is ‘desperate’? Is it the Ego that stops you?

Or is it self-defence?

Have you ever longed to be with someone in this twilight – the time when the boundaries of the harsh day and the tranquil night are blurred? Have you ever felt your heart bursting with the desire to be with the one… just walking together on the pavement… sitting together – without having to talk?

To hold.. to be held… to hear the heartbeats …. to be able to feel?

Have you ever met someone like that? Does it hurt when you realize that they never belonged to you?

Do lies hurt you too?
Why do they hurt so bad?

Is it the shame of being a fool? Or is it the fact that you fell for your own fantasies?

Do we only see what we want to see?

Does it hurt when someone loves you so madly that they are ready to lie.. to keep you close…. but not enough to trust you with the truth?

What do you do when you stumble upon it? Do you confront? Or do you feel too scared… scared of breaking the bond that has become your life?

Do you live those lies? Do you pretend that nothing has changed? Do you start feeling guilty that you found what was supposed to be hidden forever?

Why is "Soulmate" a word with a red worm underneath it? Yeah, I am still thinking about it... it’s not even a word!!!! I feel like laughing till I get tears in my eyes.

If only I could get tears in my eyes.

Life and Love are the Four Letter Words .. created by God himself..

I smirk.

Walking to the bus stop was like a therapy.. but why do I wish that the guy was here? Yes, the same guy who takes the bus with me in the morning, well... he doesn’t return with me.

I feel so tired.. Maybe I will just sit on the steel bench.. I love them... Steel – my favourite. More dear than gold! Hah.. Stainless steel… do you know why it’s called stainless? Well, some other day.. just know that it’s “stain less” and not “stain proof” … I smile to myself.

Did I just feel a breeze on my face? Yes I did. It’s getting stronger. Clouds!

Ahhhh. Let me just untie my hair… let me ‘feel the wind in my hair’ as they say it. Let it fall on my face.

what a used to death cliché!

No, I won’t try to tuck it behind my ears like I always do. Most people compliment me for my long hair.. then why do I try to hide it? Why do I keep it tied up? What am I scared of?

The bus is here….
Should I catch it?

Let it go… another one will come.. let me just sit here…

Have you ever been lost, looking at something that does not exist. just sitting somewhere, your eyes unfocused, your mind in a trance..? Thinking about something that never was… something make-believe …

Lies… all lies….

I feel someone’s presence before I turn my head to find that he is sitting right next to me. His face is still disturbed but he manages to give me a smile.

This is the first time that I notice that he smells great.
And this is the first time that I smile back…

Click here to read the first part

© 2009 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Of Hope and Despair

It starts with a touch
Warm, lazy winter noon
You are near, somewhere
in my heart, in my soul
My eyes feel heavy,
the dream so tempting
Feeling your breath on my eyes
Tears unshed, ecstasy of suffering

Holding back,
wishes untamed
Waiting for the years
A moment a day
My fingers, feel your smile
and my heart feels your pain
You wish I would ask even though,
I know you can’t stay

Counting, clinging on to the moments,
before I let you go
Close enough for whispers
Too far to touch
And I wish, sometimes
In the moments of weakness
I wish I couldn’t hear your heartbeat
Wish I didn’t know what goes on inside


I hear you leave, before you let -
me out of your arms
The wind falls silent
tip-toeing in the distance
Shy twilight – scared to touch
Empty canvas
Darkness covers me for the ritual
Another night of frost

.................................
©Chhaya

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Glory

She denounces,
tempting shadows.
Burning scalding sky
Parched lips, mocking eyes

Breaths come in gasps
endless, frozen desert
She stands tall carrying
tombstone too heavy

Gaping wounds she ignores
Stubborn, she smiles
Time, destiny, morals, fate
Greedy vultures - salivate

She wears her sins
with love and pride
Heaven flashes its wrath
Helpless, Longinus cries

She opens her arms
claiming dark victory.
They kill her carcass
Soul infidel tells a story

© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Insomnia

The cruel clock
drags slowly to half past one.
Two tiny white pills..
I cling on to my weapons.

Pillow cold as ice
heavier than wet unyielding rock
soft, white, moonlit bed
a mound of broken glass

The solitary streetlight
makes the shadows
dance on the ceiling
to the tunes of melancholy

Caressing my brow with love
the Angel of pain bathes
in the splendor
of deafening silence

“Rest is for the weak”,
she whispers
and gifts me
another night insane.


© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Charred dreams

He crawls, pleading eyes
Searching through,
Ashes, still warm..
as her touch, her smile.
Did she cry,
whispered his name.
He asks the tattered sky..
Silent- desperate.

Searching, did she pray..
For him to see..
Unshed acid tears
burning her skin.

Did the angels cry,
hearing her screams.
Bones so tender,
demons crushing.

Bleeding hands, he finds
her battered soul.
The charred sparrow,
Vacant eyes – frozen hope.

He washes her scars.
With tears and regrets..
the wind cries..
A child is dead.


© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Farewell

I carve out
my bleeding heart
it hurts bit more
as I laugh

pain
in your silence
burns me
in the rain

regret
in your eyes
cuts me deeper than
the deepest sea

fly away home
I set you free
as I pick up the pieces
of our dream

© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Soulmate

Counting the years..
mirror in my hand,
I searched for you..
my shadow.

Closing tired eyes..
I kissed you my love,
as I walked with a smile..
living, performing the lies.

I try laugh so hard..
and make it look real,
they smile back ..
think they know how I feel.

I pick up the thorns..
from the velvety night,
as your fingers..
touch her ever so light.

Scalded by the moonlight..
I reached out to you,
just stop the morning..
don’t leave my dream tonight.

With the silence of my eyes..
in the whispers of the dawn.
A lifetime and a moment..
I waited for you


© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Haiku Efforts - 2

Averted eyes
don’t tell what
I feel for you

you reach out
three words of love
A moment too late

She scares to touch
glass walls around
Childhood snatched

Fragile envelope
too precious to be torn
Stays unopened

PS: they are just efforts, not technically haiku

© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Together - Forever

Sitting by the window
relishing the pain,
I hear the sunshine
tip-toeing through the curtains

Cool breeze whispers,
with the whiff of dew
I blush as if I am
caressed by you

darkness engulfs me,
as the morning shines
"I will always be around ",
I hear your broken voice

Cool, sliver of steel,
slides on bare flesh.
The world turns crimson,
but I, feel no more pain


© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved
PS: the image is googled

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Abeyance

Long day, strange faces
lost in the crowd, yet you were with me
People smiling
I sigh – hoping, no one is there to see

Thundering, dancing
clouds ask for courage
I bow, telling them its not to be
I wish- hoping, no one is there to see

The rain lashed on, soaking
The sky is crying, angry
They know, I was wrong
I wince - hoping, no one is there to see

Walking home, I hear a footstep
You are around, I feel inside
Miles way, still you touch me
I smile a tear away - hoping, no one is there to see

I the dark, I find peace
I can’t, but you hold on to me
To say it all, I kept silent
I will try again - hoping, you are here to see

© 2008 by Chhaya. All rights reserved

PS: the image is googled

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