The paradoxical one.

She is unsure and uncertain in life, she wants a few things, yet doesnt want them too. She would initiate the conversation then feel it losing it’s sight and in time with her lack of effort, it’ll die.

For she knows they’d have many others whom they would talk to, she’d assume small things and get nervous all the time, “why did you type the Okay ♥️ as ok, / okay / k/ this time?”The others she wonders about the tone of their text and replies, “were they in a hurry or did they wish to talk to me after a while?”

“Why didn’t they use their regular emoji, or are they done with her hopeless plight?”

She deletes messages quite often too,for her anxiety tells her it sounds too rude or maybe not right, what if they feel bad? What if they read in between the lines? They cant see her vulnerable side.

Sudden calls from strangers scare her to death,do they expect a specific reply? Is hmm and haan and okay and yeah, fine? What if they feel she is not contributing to the conversation at all,her heart comes to her mouth, she feels like 1 year old, she babbles or mumbles or at times is inaudiblely loud.

At times,she is sure of her mind, sure of the things she has to say and feels about the people around, yes doubts and fear cross her mind, but her heart comes to resuce those times.

The others, her heart plays tricks on her mind, for it doesn’t understand the difference between infatuation or lust, confuses it with love and keeps her awake all night.

Yes she overthinks, she has scales of measurement for this overthinking too, a bit done every now and then seems fine, she takes overthinking breaks in between her day, thinks about the topic from all the sides and even tho the stimulus is out of her sight it still revolves in her mind.

“Is it yes or was it no?”

She dislikes the term in between and people giving her ambiguous hues. She likes weird and confusing things for sure,

The puzzle the daily crossword, the sudoku hurl, the Rubik’s cube, confusing it may be for others but she’d try all the combinations and solve it overnight, and if not, then mess up the code and add more sequences to her plight.

At times she is nervous and shy,like the naive Caterpillar that transforms into a beautiful butterfly, she is oh so cautious and alert of her moves, never to harm a soul and usually complies.

The others she is bold and scary they say, like the moth, that’s as dark as the ruinous sky, you’d shoo her off, so that she doesn’t ruin your cashmere shawl overnight,

She’s reckless and wild, is attracted to dangerous people who often hurt her or leave her in the absence of light, is attracted to the feral fire that could burn her core, yet she wishes to go near it, to warm her numb soul.

…..

Life for her is a puzzle,

one cannot fathom right away

It is never truly black nor white,

At times it’s blue and purple, red and grey,

So arrange every piece that comes your way,

And that’s how she lives her life, everyday.

Of open blue skies and bombay vada pavs.

Dadi wore saree her entire life,
Green, blue, yellow and red, were amongst some of her favourite shades
This was her favourite too.
—
She never liked disobedience from my side,
Her grim voice, usually woke me up for school,
“Shibu get up, don’t you wanna go to school, it’s already 9
Even tho, it was always six that time.
—
She was obsessed with red, shiny, golden things,
A married woman, must wear all the three reds!
Red bindi, bangles and her red kumkum, shinning from her hair!
—
“A girl is expected to do whatever the man says, shibu”
But why does he get to decide what I wanna do dadi?’

Her eyes would then pop out and stare at me in disbelief.

‘You have your father’s temper and his mouth too,
You blurt out things without thinking at all,
You’re like the pressure cooker, who’s whistle is lost.
—
‘Your grandfather’s sarcasm comes to you in phase’ she’d say
You’re like the green chilli in bhindi or palak,
That one blindly eats and then regrets, for it burns their tongue away!
—
Dadi and I often had many fights,
“Your husband would never like a girl, who’s this arrogant
And this rude, he’d leave you the second you meet!

I’d end up skipping dinner everytime we would fight,
But later she’d come with a plate of food:
”how would you fight me, if you don’t eat tonight?”
—–
Did you ever try to study?
I had once asked her,
She was peeling the peas off, meticulously she removed their skin,
Her button eyes, glared at me for sometime,
But she scoffed at my question and threw the skin away.
—
There were days, she loved me too,
When I’d help her in household chores,
Or take her up to our terrace for a short walk.

Do you know where the clouds disappear?
Or how the birds just fly around, shibu?

I never quite had any answers for her naive questions,
But I often saw her smile widely
her cheeks, they shined
Every Time she saw the open blue sky.
—
She was a fan of Bombay vada pavs,
Sasural Genda phool and other bollywood songs.
She loved watching food video’s,
Namak samak chef, was her favourite too.
—
This one time, she caught the flu,
She didn’t agree to take medicines,
Just get 2 vadapavs, they must be frying them now! I can smell them from above
Tell him to add extra green chutney too!
—
She would then share half the vada pav with me,
“Why don’t you eat the entire thing”, I’d say as I would hogg on the half she’d give me.
“Why do you always share it with me?
I thought you hate me?”
Because the vada pav tastes better when I give you the other half, you silly girl!

—————————————————————————————————

Forever and smiles.

Dear you,
I know I told you I love being alone, enjoy my solitude. Yet I expect a text from you, hope that you just casually text me back asking how everything’s going on, call me, tell me that you miss my voice.

But alas, I’ve always been told that our expectations often end up killing us.
I find myself tossing and turning on the bed all night, I think about the counter agruments of the things you said, the things I texted, and the things I actually meant.

I am always on my guard whenever I text you, tell my self, that I shall not act vulnerable infront of you, for you are just a guy, ugh, a guy who has started meaning so much to me that it scares the shit out of me.

It’s like something inside me tells me I should go back to you, that you’re the one I had always wanted in my life, but the logical arguments, and my friends, they tell me that this is just a phase, it’ll wander off in sometime.

And you do know what that led to, the final goodbye, the I hate you, don’t contact me ever again”.

Yet every night,as I sit by my window,  The Reason by Hoobastank plays at the back of my mind, as I close my eyes, our last hug is replayed, I remember the first time I saw you smile, my cheeks heat up a bit, my finger trace lines back to my lips,

I realise I am actually smiling at the thought of your smile.

---

I guess not everyone is meant to be there with you forever,

But why should forever only be counted in years and time, why not moments and smile?

Maybe this journey was destined to end this way

And oh, it did.

-30th May.

---

To the girl whom he next meets,

He’s weird, impulsive, shy and quiet,
At times he’ll remind you of your strict pt sir,
Who’ll make you run an extra round for being late,
so that you get disciplined in life.
At times he’d be your English professor,
Who’s jolly and funny, will help you in your work, but takes life very seriously,
Who’s patient and oh very polite.

He replies back in minutes few,
His vocabulary is a mirror of his favourite shows,
That’s what she said, ‘noice’ and his pun jokes,
You’ll get so accustomed to them, don’t be surprised if you end up typing cool five times in a row.

He seems uninterested, I know,
for he never texts you first,
But start a discussion on any topic, new,
From soulmates, to love, marriage and divorce,
Law and crime, ask him his political views,
Or how the men in red won the Friday night live.

He will always share his opinions openly,
and those opposing views of yours,
he’ll respect those too.

Yes there are times, when his overthinking comes alive,
He’d question your motive behind these conversations,
His replies would then be prompt as his lawyer skills come to rescue,
It’d be impossible to win against him
And his childish hues,

Whatever, don’t blame me,

Oh I never fight, that’s you!

But don’t worry, he loves to crib like this all the time,
He’d pretend to be mean and rude, but then he cares,
Just doesn’t know how to handle his emotions, new.

But one thing he dislikes, more than momos and Janice,
Are confrontations and fights,
Don’t confront him with feelings, emotions or drama new,
He’d then run back to his humble cave
And you’d never hear from him, ever again.

For it’s over, right?

But don’t be surprised, if you find his snaps after a few days, he’d ask ambiguous questions too, to test you.
he’d ask you about his beard, his new hairstyle :

Does this seem fine?

Is stopping here the right choice?

Don’t worry, he likes to challenge the person,
To tease them, to give them a fair fight,
Just keep yourself strong, be patient with him

For he’d be the best thing that would ever happen to thee!

Yours truly,

The girl he never loved

Poem 53#

Does your heart ever beat aloud, when my name pops on your screen?

Does your face heat up, or do your lips start to smile?

Do you ever look up at the sky and gaze at the moon sometimes?

Remember our previous conversations and way you hugged me, tight?

Do my thoughts ever cross your mind,

Whenever you’re busy at work, trying to study, or sleep at night?

Do you even remember the words you said before you first kissed me,

Or way you smiled so bright?

---

I wouldn’t know, anymore.

But,

I do know you’re searching for a girl who’d fit into your world.

Who is different than the others, you’ve met,
Someone who adds value to your life, understands you.
Doesnt expect you to be perfect,
Rather, accepts your various hues.

Doesn’t give up on you, when you push her aside,
Who keeps texting you, even though you hardly reply,
Who is always loyal to you, honest and never lies.

You’re a man of few words,
You pretend to listen and hardly reply,
But expect others to listen to you,
but do you comply?

You welcome people, but never let them in,
You know their secrets, hardly share your worries, at times lie.
When confronted, you dive in your cave, you sigh.

You overthink, overanalyze, but keep mum, in your agony, you die.
But tell others that overthinking isn’t right

You have peculiar moods, one in which you wish to be left alone,
One in which you’re no longer the gloomy soul, you’re cheerful,
full of life,
Alas it doesn’t last that while,
And finally the one,in which, your mood, monosyllables provide.

---

But there’s this void, this tiny black hole,

That exists within you, in your heart,

That is masked by your smile,

One that I can see in your eyes.

What if it forever resides?

Poem 52#

He’s here, but he’s truly not,

I don’t recognize him,

In fact I never have and never will,

He babbles and abuses too,

His eyes, don’t see what we see,

It sees a world that keeps opressing him,

His mouth becomes a flame of lies,

Of pain and hurt,

betrayal and crimes,

His past surfaces in and he becomes the same old boy

With khaki shorts and torn shirt,

With worn chappals and lost eyes

Who’s father beat him, to hide his lies,

To hide his affair with the woman he loved,

Who wasn’t his wife.

It all comes back to him, at times in episodes too.

He remembers the time his purple hand was beaten black,

The times his father thrashed him

Left him away and ignored his plight.

But oh he forgets the time he left us away,

Instead,

Says I am a burden,

And my siblings are no longer his children too.

He slurrs and slips,

Fumbles on his own failures, oh he falls.

And when his tired eyes and calloused feet hurt a lot,

He crashes his stout body on the defeated old bed,

Mumbbles a “I hate you, you’re no longer my child’

And goes back to sleep, soundly, every night.

---

Poem 51#

I didn’t know what I’d write today,

For hasn’t life become so mundane?

So monotonous, like the clock,

At every interval it ticks and tocks

Prompts me, it’s alive today.

I wake up to my mom’s atypical voice,

The news broadcast, tallies the death tolls,

The uneasy cooker keeps fretting too,

With each whistle, it gets louder and louder,

Until it’s left to cool at its place.

Dad works on his laptop grey,

With his tea cup beside his ashtrays,

His weary files are out again,

He enters the data,

fiercely stabs the fatigued keys,

Oh this damn old laptop, types ‘he’ as ‘eeee’

Sweety then chirps a loud meow to me,

Oh! she’s awake and is famished

She wants to eat the loaf of bread.

Along with the her favourite peanut butter

And chocolate spread.

Alas this short poem comes to an end,

For sweety’s wrath is inescapable,

When she hasn’t been fed.

PS: Sweety is my 10 year old baby parrot.