The Perfect Love Affair

The Perfect Love Affair:  It takes you seven places up to Heaven, and seven places down to Hell.

I bared my heart and soul to you, peeled every inch of my old beliefs and notions away, and stood before you with my soul stark naked, with the fresh pink of my new essence, my heart on my palm.

You revered me in return. You acknowledged the herculean effort I put in my evolution, and you were grateful for it. I was becoming an extension of myself, the kind of extension that fit seamlessly in the pattern of You; much like the perfection of a missing puzzle piece finally fitting, or locking eyes with a stranger as the rain drenched the earth with bliss.

It was the perfect love affair. There was no fraudulent attraction that befouls young minds, no magic of youthful juvenility, no lie of the untamed heart. There was Damage, and there was Love that repaired that Damage. There were hollow beams on which stood our edifices; we were, in turn, pillars to these piles which stood proud of the mutilation that life brought along. We were band aids, that covered the other’s bullet wound, magic Elixir that healed scars that were centuries old.

Besides another , You are the only being I had ever prayed for. I am not a steady believer in God, my Faith dwindles almost as often as my Fate. I am always Thankful, but rarely had I shown unswerving Belief and prayed unfailingly. That was before you became an infatuation of my  survival instinct; well before my subsistence became dependent on you. Now I prayed, with all my will and faith and sincerity, I prayed for you to be mine. I lifted my hands and prayed to be only yours.  There were hurdles, huge barriers that you needed to cross to attain the way of life you had dreamt of. I dreamt of it with you, shared that dream and made it my own. I prayed with all my yearn, all my ache, as if it were a matter of my life and death and not yours. I never recognized when they fused to be one and the same.

I saw my prayers work magic, my appeals before the One drew you closer to your desire every step of the way. It was euphoric, to see my humble words and insignificant passion work wonders in the life of whom i cherish most. Yet you never believed in Him; you claimed you had seen enough malice in the world to believe in Kindness anymore.

It was then I had an inkling you never saw me the way I saw you. You were the answer to my prayers; I was never the subject of yours.

In spite of all differences, the contrasts and contradictions, you are the Love of my Life, the object of my Desire, the center of my Universe.  I ran to you when Life came hard on me, and found indescribable pleasure in being the shoulder you leant on. We are galaxies in our own accord; effortlessly amalgamating into meteors to help cork the black holes that appear occasionally in our core.

With rose colored glasses on our eyes, ignoring every little nudge that Reality gave us now and then, we were floating through time, space and dreams. Every day was a pathway to a new avenue, to a new plethora of desires and hopes and ambitions.

I believe it was then that we stoked the wrath of Life. We infuriated Her, giving no heed to Her warnings, paying no attention to Her advice. There were miniature tempests, a little transposal of our equations that was conspired by Real Life. She engulfed us in Her acquisitive details and there was a little parting of ways that we endured. The point of the matter being, we endured for a little while, and other times we were drained by the effort it took to fight back and emerge strengthened. Life had greater,  unkind moves up Her sleeve.

So today, as I sit here writing the story of our lives, I admit a little defeat. I confess that Life has, at long last, succeeded at Her conspiracy; She has convinced me to believe that our bond is not as covalent as it seemed. It is not as enduring, as prevailing as I thought it to be.Whenever I pass by any reminder of our glorious past , I am forced to see the bruises that this world has inflicted on the fresh, weak rind of my being now, when you are not there to protect me. There are no blames to be placed; you are too busy brandishing your own sword in your war than to become my Shield. I am afraid to look in the mirror, to meet my eyes and answer; Where I lost my essence, where in the world did  I diminish my Ego, and laid my foundation to rock and quake?

As much as I am proud of it, I now feel equally destitute about the reality that if someone were to peel off the layers, see through my being with X-Ray vision, all they would find is You, carved into the gravestone of a soul I now house.

*fictitous story, all pictures taken from  http://fadedjeanss.tumblr.com/

Brave Little Souls....

are the ones who wear their hearts on their sleeves.

I've been carrying mine around in my palm for quite some time now.
It is much tough to be a lover than I ever imagined.
I had the foolish notion that it's all hormones, all the illusionary works of man's instinct for survival, no reality to the connection of souls, that our parents know the best...

Till when God picked me up and thrust me straight in the core of this cosmic, magical world.
Where your heart grows outside your body, and you protect it from all, and bare it to One , and One only.

And I feel this heart of mine, resting in the palm of my hand,  pulsating Belief in every vein, Hope with every touch, and indescribable Gratitude for finally being worth Someone as Beautiful as You.

X: I feel Lucky right now...
Me: To be sitting at an international airport ? :P
X: Lucky to have you with me right now.

The Essence of my existence is finally defined.
Go on World, go on Social Obligation and Expectant Obedience, you can scar my soul as much as you can, you can not take my Essence from me....

I know what makes me want to Live, Finally.

. . . . . .

Ek Shaks.

Jis Ke Liye Khuda Se Dua Maang Ke

Mujhe Lagta Hai Mene Zindagi Jee Li.

I am Proud of you, and yes it's OKAY if you bought Jeans for yourself.

You've done a good in your life, and no you won't be damned to Hell if you wear jeans just in the house.





Words I yearn to hear from my mother's mouth.

Yeh Kia Hua?

Right now, my eyes are stinging. There wasn't a wink of sleep last night.
They are stinging so hard that i can't keep them open without tears streaking my face.

I am trying to convince myself that these are the tears of heartbreak, and not from sleep deprivation.
Just so I may have the consolation of having cried once.

I am SUCH a fool.

There were times when he used to make me cry, and I'd come back red-eyed with a tear-streaked face, and i could see tangible guilt on his face. I liked that he knew it was him, the reason of my pain, even if I were crying for nothing. It felt being worthy enough; that I managed to induce guilt in someone. Selfish, I know, but Satisfying.

Now I can't tell him that its him, that it's me who's hating him for making me love him; I'm so badly broken inside that my eyes are incapable of rendering any tears.

I hate that I love him.

--Ankhein Surmai, Surmai jaise Shaam,
Aanchal Dhaani sa, hua Badnaam;
Tinka Tinka, Raiza Raiza 
Hotey Kyun hein Aashiyan?
-------------------------------------Aashiyan?

The Office.

And it is only in office that you could expect me to blog… :D

I thank God that I got a job and saw what “Tedious, Tiring, Impossibly-Incomprehensible-for-a-woman” work men do at their workplaces. I saw men for what they really are: lying, pretentious, sitting-on-their-ass-all-day braggers.

Nothing.They do Nothing.

Workload at offices is NOTHING compared to what we are accustomed to as students, there are so many darn tea-breaks and such dry and easy-like-cake work that it doesn’t give you a rush at all. It’s like you’re working between breaks and attempts to fight off boredom.

I don’t like it.

I don’t like it when there’s no adrenaline, no excitement or expectation of success. I don’t know how they measure your performance. :(

And then I think about how our dads become the high and mighty creatures of the household because they work, Or earn the bread and butter.

Sitting on their butts all day IM-ing their mates and ordering tea and coffee is WORK.Supposedly.

And then they have the guts to come and brag about it at home. Aaarrrggghhhhhk, drives me nutting-ly mad !

I mean, you get your careers made this way, get a position in society, get your bank balances updated every month, find *a little* mental engagement to keep you sane, order people around and still manage to keep the upper hand in the house. You have no idea how tough housework is.

Yea, these are the cries of a second rate citizen in a third world,male dominated society.

And a Daughter Came Instead....

Imagine the disappointment of man who has no male heir to carry on his grand legacy into the world, no name bearer, no trace that he ever existed on the planet.
Imagine what he most pined for, a son, was given to him and then taken ruthlessly away.
Imagine the web of pain and self pity that he has knit around himself.
Imagine how incomplete and inferior he must feel, when he sees his friends and brothers nurturing that superior race as their offspring.
What Misfortune !
What Pity !


The century before you never could turn 21
Years and years he waited just watching for a son
For someone to go ahead, take the name he said
Years and years he waited and a daughter came instead


And then imagine that man, having an obedient and intelligent daughter, no less than any son.
Imagine him having a doting and dutiful wife, better than the wives of any of his mates.

Imagine that daughter fulfilling all duties and pursuing all activities that her non-existant brothers might've taken up.
Imagine her stifling all her heart's desires, trying so very hard to be the son God never intended her to be.

Imagine that wife never complaining inspite of all her husbands unfair ordeals.
Imagine her never raising her voice against anything she thought unfair, always being compliant to her husband's wishes.
Imagine her allowing him to share himself with another woman, all so he may be as blessed as other men were.
Imagine her supression.









And then, think for a moment, about the desperate life of this man who never appreciated his family, because of the one he could never get.
Imagine him being a husband to a wife who deserved so much better.
Imagine him being the man his daughter imagined the rest of the men to be like.

But that's enough for now, he should've never left you broken
He should've held you, things your father never could do
That's enough for now, he would've never left you broken
He would've held you, things your father never told you

Breathing comes in pairs
Except for twice
One begins and one's goodbye

Sixty years of sorrow he got 5 or 6 of bliss
Left my mother’s mother without so much as a kiss.

Men with inferiority complexes as huge as these should be hanged in the Square.
They are responsible for destroying personalities, and giving unnaturally low expectations to the ones they live with.
They lower their family's worth of self.

They deserve no pity. No Kindness.




Lyrics quoted from "Enough For Now" by "The Fray".