My life, my opium

I trudged along, carrying those heavy grocery laden bags in my hand, my huge vanity bag on my shoulder and some other stuff.
I had vowed I would not take and auto, I needed to feel some pain.

Drudgery of the day added to all of it, and it started getting difficult with each step.

I am a girl of petite frame and soft skin, so soon I could see red marks on my palm, where the carry bag strips met them.

But I dint pity myself,
 At that moment I realized there was some sanity in religious fanatics flagellating themselves and crying "Haaye Hassan", the self-inflicted pain can be a source of derisive pleasure at times. I felt avenged of myself, of all my sins
I felt it was a way of punishing myself

Punishment for being with wrong people, at right times of my life
Punishment for  learning driving and having a license, yet not having enough guts to start driving
Punishment for absconding from my blog, for irrelevant people
Punishment for not being able to ignore things, and letting my anger get the better of me
Punishment for devouring life, treating it like a play-thing, submerging my life in my whims, meeting it headlong, trying to give it back in rage, as it gave me opportunities in love

But my red marks were threatening to become a bruise and I could not walk even for 30 seconds at stretch, with all that weight.
So I started taking short breaks, stopping and just looking around, and having other people give me weird looks
After a good ten minutes, there was a bus stop and I thought of sitting on the bench and just relaxing my palms

I was listlessly looking around, when I saw these 2 women, talking and laughing

They seemed so much one with happiness, on a high.
They were nudging, teasing, mocking...(I took their pic, but came too dark so I posted one from net)

I laugh cos like is happening to me

I looked at them closely, trying to decipher the source of their high

Were they young?

Youth is a high in itself, as if the world is yours and waits for you to laugh
But they seemed well in their 50s

Were they gorgeous?

Beauty, of the kind which makes the world go weak in knees, makes the owner of the beauty giddy at times
They feel the world belongs to them, and waits on them
But no, they were not the conventional traffic stoppers either

Were they high on their richness?

But that could not be, else they would not be waiting for a bus

And it pleasantly struck me, they were high on life
This life, as it was then, in that moment...
They were high on their everyday-ness, the same mornings and evenins

Past and future were in limbo
At least for those moments

And I instantly scribbled this in my notepad:

I have looked for highs on mountain and cliffs

But realized,  there is a high in every low

For every trough, there is a crest

Sinusoidal wave, this life is

My life, my opium

So I threw my head back, let my hair fall all around, picked up the bags and headed home, stopping at a medical shop to get some ointment for the bruise.
Hoping that tomorrow morning, all  my scars would be healed.
And they will be, nothing in life is permanent

Note - It was good to be away, but its better to be back. 
Packed with armor of my arrogance, and power to ignore the ignorables