Take My Breath Away

Okay.. so my last poem was a dud ... agreed. The story behind it is – someone reminded me of the fact that I was only writing about three topics..... so, I tried writing about the things I don’t exactly feel.. hence the disaster.

Psst Psst...what I am trying to say is – Blame Him! Not Me!

Atonement was close to my heart but The Glass Window was a faked pain. I guess that is even worse than faked pleasure.

Life or my lifestyle has never stopped me from getting soaked in the rain or getting my feet dirty. Playing with kids or sing along a corny Bryan Adams song like ‘Let’s make a night to remember’ ... I actually do every mad thing that comes in my mind. That includes talking to my pet fish and going out for ice-cream at midnight. (I guess it explains my insanely accident prone nature, but more about that later)

Anyways.. so, a few days back, I was in my ‘cocoon’ mood. You know, the days when you just don’t wanna talk to nobody (pardon my double-negative.. sometimes wrong things make the most sense). It hadn’t rained for more than a week. The evening was slightly lost in the heat of the day.

Was home alone so I did what I do when such an evening arrives. Made a big mug of coffee and then sat by the window. My building is in this huge residential complex with gardens and pools. There is a playground right in front and I could watch the kids playing. Everyone had a hankie tied to his face, what with the swine flu scare.

The coffee was awesome.. first two teaspoons of the newly opened Coffee jar without milk or sugar to corrupt it. Just pure tantalizing smell of individuality. Have you ever wondered how the Ad agencies target families with tea and individuals with coffee??
Hmmm.. heck.. I think too much..

So what happened was – the rain came lashing down on the parched earth and the air was completely fragrant with the smell of first rain.. second time in one Monsoon .. whoa!! .... My heart went - 'thud' and I was thrown back into my childhood.

Good smell has always been the biggest turn on for me after thunders and storms. May be it is because we tag those forgotten memories with them. I cant smell Old Spice aftershave without my mind going to my Dad.. Freshly made Roti (Indian bread) never fails to remind me of Mom.. Smell of coffee and new book go together reminding me of every moment alone...

Funny, the way smells instantly bring back memories.. some pleasant, some unpleasant.. some that you don’t even wanna acknowledge


Love
Chhaya

PS: the image is obviously googled

Read more...

The Glass Window

Children of the street
dance in the first rain,
Screaming with delight.
Barefoot and half naked.
Surrounded with the comfort,
of money and fame..
I steal greedy glances through
the impersonal window frame.

Safety of Grandma’s arms and
the beauty of her weathered face -
I am trying to remember,
fighting hard to forget.
Trapped in the addictive -
golden coffin of success,
I live my death
in tiny instalments.


© Chhaya
I forbid any comparison between Slumdog Millionaire and this poem... :

Read more...

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!!

Read more...