HIM AND HIS.

It was a very still day. It has always been still. It was all ironical, really. How the world moved and how lives were still stagnant. There was something about the breeze that day. It hit Naarah hard on the face - like a constant reminder of her monotony. 

There were a lot of thoughts on her mind. Nothing changes, she thought to herself. You crawl out and crawl back in. You exist and be. And here she was, brooding.

But there was something in the air that day, something that erected an urge inside her to pause the brooding and begin searching. Began searching for something. 

                                                                                                               Naarah looked at her phone and looked at HIM. Angus. Staring back at her from that Social Media App. He looked alright. He didn't immediately draw her. But he had a certain decency about himself. She gave him a thought, a stare, a choice, a chance. He was worth saying a hi to. She did. He responded. Or was it the other way round? She didn't care. She didn't question it. She wanted to be more than herself to anyone who was willing to take the love she had to offer. She felt so much beauty inside her all the time, but no one to surrender to.

Angus seemed free and refreshing. He said - "Hello, cutestuff." She smiled. It was as refreshing as it could get. As virgin as it could be. 

Naarah knew men. She knew what moves them. And what makes them. The merciless touches, the violent words, the condescending laughs and the bland minds. She didn't trust them and she didn't have to.They were way too shallow for her beauty. Way too transparent.

"I like your taste in Indian wear." - Angus wrote again. She sighed. Compliments have a tendency to make you feel good, no matter where they come from. She felt like she had been noticed. In a world full of desires, she had been seen.

She responded. She realized that she wanted to. A conversation began. It was a long one, that's for sure. They talked for a long time. Words were very carefully but callously thrown, shared. Words with meanings that will not leave her mind for a long time. He complimented, she swallowed them all. He asked her questions, and she answered - all too much. She could see that Angus was beginning to treat her differently. She hadn't been treated that way too often. Naarah remembered how her last love told her she was sad too often, and felt too much. She decided to close her heart to him. But Angus. Every word that came out of her mind, he made subtle love to it. He caressed her mind like one caresses an infant. A delicate infant. She spoke her mind and he was there to listen. She was the breeze, he was the leaf. He danced with her. He joyously embraced her soul. Naarah realized how fast and how effortlessly she was falling into this endless pit of entangled words that could never exist beyond that moment. Angus had stripped her naked. Angus was knocking at her soul. And it was all momentary.

                                   

 Naarah fell in love way too fast and way too carelessly. She fell in love with the idea of him - inaccessible yet ubiquitous. He was all around her. 

                                    Angus seemed to be a man that chased freedom, yet lived in a free world. He looked at things from a very different perspective, and he chose to look at HER. Angus was not a slave to the world, like most people are. His life seemed fast, but not hasty. He either kissed everything he felt, or made it a point to not feel at all. There were just two ways to everything for him - the mask or the face. Naarah was attracted to that idea in an instant. He pushed her to write, express. Naarah knew how to do it and where to do it. She had just killed that desire a long time ago, until Angus came along. "Why don't you write!" - He exclaimed. She knew at that instant that she wanted to. It was a long lost hobby, and she decided to resign to his demand the next day.

Angus was there. Angus had been there. He had been there since a few hours ago, but it all fit too well. Two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Angus and Naarah. She wrote, she danced on the white sheet of paper, she laughed, she dazzled. She was a naked beauty.

The evening ensued. Angus felt languorous. It was all an irony. She flew, and he surrendered. Naarah was his. Since the moment he had read her, breathed on her neck. He gave himself up to her and she bowed to him. Together, they entered a world of surreal beauty and purity. A world that none can see but feel. An experience that is closer to birth and death together. An idea, that bound them together, and neither could free themselves from each other. They had never met, yet they made love inside that surrealism. She couldn't ever unfeel HIM even if she wanted to. She was etched on the edge of HIS world forever. HIM and HIS - possessed.

                                                                                                                                

Words don't excite anymore.The once so beautiful words - free, floating, callous and still. They aren't free anymore. The meaning is lost. They are just alphabets after all. Overused and belittled. I don't want something used so often...do you feel anything? The beauty is lost. The stench has grown. These words, sluts. Have serviced every man they know. Easily available...disparaging my trust in them. Destroying what was nearest to me. Damaging what I had known for years. No, you don't interest me anymore. Go to someone who doesn't know how to use you. I knew. I respected. I valued. I am done.

"I don’t do drugs. I tried them once. They gave me nothing but a reason to stay away from them.

I don’t drink regularly. It’s a waste of money and a process of self destabilization.

I don’t drive hastily. It’s my responsibility to drive my machine straight.

I don’t steal. It’s for people who are deprived of their wants with their hands outstretched and empty.

I don’t stray - not without purpose.

I don’t call myself sane - I don’t desire to be. I am not idle. I just exist.

I don’t cry. Vulnerability equals destruction.

I just smoke. It’s something I call my own..every pattern of that white thickness is my creation...vanishes in the air without judgement from the onlookers. The judgement comes on me, not my deep exhale of satisfaction.

I don’t have many friends...their flaws are too superior and their concerns - too trivial.

I don’t have love. It’s not as readily available as a dick.

I am not cold to a stranger. Just indifferent to their curiosities and ways.

I don’t hurt myself. It can never compete with the internal wounds.

I don’t call people ugly. They are just so beautiful that they forget others exist.

I don’t fight. Not with a person who is incapable of absorbing my reasons.

I don’t shout. Except at the walls.

I have a family...big enough to fill my house.

I don’t need people. They are just empty vessels.

I play the guitar. The strings are like my life...every mood, every string has a different beautiful music...but if not handled with care...lay aside..untouched..unaccessed..unimportant...all by itself..

My life is a glass full of crystal clear water...filled to the brim...the water is my 

thoughts..my music..my books...my time...my space..my sky..my pages..my smiles..my 

tears..my laughs..my light...my darkness...my past..my present...my concerns..my 

insecurities...my room..my bed...my journey. Another "alien" drop would make it 

overflow.

AM I TOO FULL OF MYSELF??"

And I am writing again.

It’s been long. But the words are all around.  They are like fireflies to me, forcing me to entrap them on this white sheet.

There’s this little something I want to say, something I feel, every single time we walk away, and every single time we meet.

Do you want to know the most beautiful time of my day?

It’s when I light a cigarette to exhale all the thoughts that come my way.  The thoughts both old and new. They are the thoughts of you.

I stare at the watch, time and again. Its time for us to meet. 

And finally when the numbers appear, I light a cigarette, to prepare, to bear.

Do you know that my heart jumps every time you look at my face?

Ah, my heart clenches so tight, so I light a cigarette and do away with the fight.

Have you seen how I fumble when you seek an answer to my most obvious reactions?

Do I Owe you an answer? I light a cigarette again and then smirk at your lack of attention.

The curls on the bed, the warmth of the sheet, the messy clothes and the tangled bodies,

The love me make is a love that will break, so I light a cigarette again, roll over, and smoke away, just smoke it all away.

Its time for you to go. The door opens, the air rushes in, slaps me on the face, reminds me of our last embrace,

The door shuts, the cigarette is lit. Our love is such a mis’fuckin ‘fit.

The day is done. The lights go out. The blankets become a pile again.

The thoughts of you rush in. The lips are enticed by a cigarette again.

What am I to you? I always wonder. Is it love? Or a four letter blunder..?

Maybe I am to you what a cigarette is to me. A savior. A distraction. A comfort. An attraction. A cage. A high. A power. A sigh.

And the words vanish, the fireflies die, the sheet goes blank and wet.

The night is dark, I light a smoke, right when you call and ask me to quit.

From the words of an Ordinary Woman....

I hope this letter reaches you. I hope that you have the time to acknowledge it, to access it, to read it and to accept it. I hope you have the capability to distinguish between what you must and what you mustn’t. I hope you are what I hope you would be.

                                                                                       I am just your ordinary girl. I am a girl from nowhere yet from everywhere. I am a girl you see every day at every nook and corner of the street. I am a girl who laughs aloud with her friends, who parties and who works hard to be what she aspires to be. I am a girl whose mother ties a napkin to her tiny dress with a safety pin in case she dirties herself. I am a girl who wakes up every morning and goes to school for 13 years of her life. I go through multiple phases of heartbreaks and hook ups. I fall in and out of love. I go to college and then prepare myself for the corporate world. I am an ordinary girl, with ordinary choices and needs.

You can give me a name, Jessica, Nirbhaya, Radha or sita. All are the same to me. Names don’t matter Sir, because I am and have always been, a beautiful woman.

At night, while I sleep, I frequently see dreams of a moon lit sky and big shiny white stars and a pretty garden underneath. I see freedom in every living and non living thing. And then, I am woken up by my daily life. I face my father, who hopes for nothing but a safe little corner where his daughter can prosper. He guides me through my routine, everyday. He fears for me, for my life, for my very existence.

I step out of my house. Calm, composed, sophisticated, scared, terrified, tortured. A man whistles at me. I ignore it. Its routine. I board a bus. A man brushes against me. He feels me up. I ignore. Maybe He will get down in a while or maybe my stop will come soon. Maybe the idea of an immediate relief is more overpowering than fighting for it.  I reach outside my office, a group of boys hurl unwanted comments at me. I feel small, ridiculed, like I feel every day. But, I ignore.  The group of boys would change tomorrow, the comments wont. I enter my office and I am whored into work. Its not work load, its gender bias. I would go on like that for a few years, without promotions and without considerations, since my pre conceived notions act successfully against me. A woman is emotionally vulnerable and delusional. And thus I won’t ever be heard.

One day, my biggest fear confronts me. I am groped, scratched, raped, tortured, burnt and shred apart. Those men, those animals see my body as a means to satisfy their sadistic desires. Its beyond rape. Its cannibalism. My sexual organs, my feminity, my pride, my beauty is reduced to a shameful truth. I become a living evidence of sexual cruelty.

Still, I decide to recover. What remains of me is a skeleton, a prostituted skeleton. But I am willing to fight, to sustain, to be a symbol of an unaltered desire to be free. However, The next morning, my independence gives way to a shameful demise, of my identity, Of me. I cease to exist.

What are you doing about it? Pepper sprays? Help lines on speed dials? All women buses? Autos? Candle light marches? Curfews? Will these seize the psychological rape I go through everyday?

I do not serve my sexuality to you on a platter. I am just trying to be a responsible mother, a lovable sister, a beautiful lover and an amazing wife. Sometimes I am trying to be all at once too. I balance the world.

The world, now, is isolating my gender, my rights. You are drawing concrete heavy boundaries. Your misconceptions about me come at a price. Its not me who needs to stop being me. Its you who needs to contain your lust, to put a blindfold on those prying eyes, to see beyond the darkness, to  step beyond hypocrisy and respect the balance. I wont cease to step outside my personal space after midnight. I wont stay in to save myself. I would rather step out to practice safety. I wont cover my body to sustain my sexuality. I would rather uncover it to determine how far you can go, and how driven you are to dilute that act of lust.  Can YOU stop sir? Can you stop being yourself? Can you stop being a typical Delhi male?

I will walk free. And I urge all women to walk with me. We are no Cinderella sir, But things CAN turn ugly after midnight, If you want them to, that is. We don’t have to crouch and hide In a dark corner, because that is not safety, That is entrapment. We will come out in the open and declare ourselves. I am no feminist sir, but freedom wont come until we are released.

Therefore, rules, regulations, boundaries , policies and procedures don’t serve my need to be safe. They provide temporary solutions, while we are looking for permanent changes. Its not the change that matters sir, it’s the management of that change. Can you do that? Can you manage a mind set change? Can you manage a perception change? Can you ? will you? We await an answer. We await a solution. We await freedom.

I do not seek attention. I just have something to say.

Sincerely,

An ordinary woman.

THIS IS WHAT THE NETWORK 18 OFFICE LOOKS LIKE..

It was a grand place. Everything seemed to be amiable and transparent, including the tangible building.The walls proudly declared its inmates, standing tall, eagerly erect. Lights flickered at each and every corner, throwing with them bits of information.The inmates lived in an oblivion of those flickering lights, yet moving back and forth about them. Each 'worker' possessed a space of their own, embracing, smiling, reminding them of a warm surrounding.They were comfortable in their own shells, working, nodding, fingers moving at their best speeds, eyes pacing about the angle of vision.They were alert, aware and absorbed. Each building was enclosed in glass walls, drawing a sort of partition among them. One could sense the sensual serenity in the air. Eyes could see the colorful keyboards and the black and grey screens, the ears could hear the hasty typing, the nose could smell the mellifluously intermingled perfumes coming from different people, the mouth waiting for a laugh or a conversation and the skin growing hot and cold against different temperatures. People were accepting of each other's presence, yet indifferent. The relationships that existed were severely and loyally performed...a boss and an employee..friends...partners...a lift man and a guard...a caretaker and a pantry boy...a computer and a keyboard. Every now and then, one could see a new person walking towards the door and away from it, coming and existing. There was a loud silence around. A stagnant motion.

An Ugly Beauty

I see her walk by the flower bed,
People staring at her with disgust and ignorance,
she was supposed to be ugly and unpleasant,
but she seemed to have her own world of beauty and love..


She smiled at the flowers and laughed at the birds,
the twinkle in her eye never cared for the onlooker's words,
Her happiness was what shined on her face,
However, no one ever could like her, for she was ugly to one's gaze.


She had a lot to hear from the world around her,
but the world never heard her,
what was her fault if she was made this way,
beauty lied inside her, but no one accepted her, the truth being this.


Her shadow cried for love, her reflection desired for an embrace,
she wanted some light to shine on her, but there was nothing she wanted to chase,
she had a lot of love to give, but no one to love her,
Her beauty was always placed before, she could never be 'two'gether.


One day I realized My love for her,
She was beautiful to me, like an angel could be.
To the world her eyes may seem dull and dark,
but every time I look at her, I see an instant spark.


A spark of love, joy, hope and happiness,
There was nothing more she wanted from me, and nothing less,
her eyes were the reflection of the world,
a residence of both twinkle and tears, dependence, compares and fears,
her eyes were pearls with shimmering lights,
her hair the color of numerous nights..


Her nose reminds the world of a falcon's beak,
curved till the end but oh so neat,
her lips maybe chapped and dry and weak,
but I think they just need some caress and treat.


Her ears are small but enough to hear me,
her cheeks shallow, but the smile was so deep.
her jaw reminds me of the mismatch we share,
but wait..opposites attract...that's all about what I care..


Her necks no longer slender and toned,
Its might be like a swan with huge collar bones,
But look, what a look it gives,
when there hangs the pendant with our pics.
It gives a support to the satisfaction we count upon,
which exists in our heart from dusk till dawn,
It will be there till the end of time,
from the day we were reborn in love, till the day we go mime.


Her arms are heavy,
but her hug is lovely,
Her arms are the periphery of my problems,
inside them I feel like an entirely new human.


Her fingers seem hard and grey,
but when our fingers entangle, they remind me of a relationship that will stay,
Her feminism is contradictory to the word,
But I am in love with her soul and her world.


Her legs are two barks standing apart,
but when they run towards me, they make me the destination of where they start,
Her words spread a scent around when she speaks,
They attract me to her mind and the secrets they keep.


The most beautiful part of her is her heart,
Every beat promises me that we would never ever part.