Tu jo mila..to ho gaya main kabil..tu jo mila..to ho gaya sab haasil

Today my sweetu , my son Aaru aka Araadhya Srijan, went out for my sisrer's musical show without me, as I was feeling really tired.

This was his first time without me outside house, for such a long time
I kept calling now and then to know his status and my mom reported that though he looked jolly while going out but the moment he realised that I am not around, he cried bitterly. But they could get him around after car trip and moving around. My mom's presence is reassuring for him and me as well.

But the fact that for a while he missed me like mad, made me fee strangely satisfied.

I am a working mother and he gets to spend only 30% of his waking moments with me, in a week. Rest 70% is with my mother yet he craves for me!!???

This feeling is so enriching, so rewarding, so beautiful that I can forget all my malice, all my anger with the world in just that one moment of him trying to find me in every face and crying cos he can not see me

His feeling is so re-assuring to me in many ways..it tells me that apart from what I appear to the world, I am beautiful..I am spotless..I am perfect
Apart from how I torn and scattered I feel, his feeling for me assures me that all thats broken in me will be mended just cos he thinks I can mend it all for him

My love for him, which results in his immense love and trust in me...decides it all

He tells me that I am invincible

There is something so pure about a child loving you, so attractive, so heart wrenching that the toughest can melt
I see Aaru flashing his smile all around ..to the auto wala, the sweeper, each of them smiling back to him..the ones whom we see usually grumpy with us

And to have that child's love so centered around you..is a privilege, is a gift

Tu jo mila..to ho gaya main kabil..tu jo mila..to ho gaya sab haasil

Cos someone like me can not be part of mundane

I have decided on one thing..I will say all the things to myself that I wished someone else would say to me..someday..sometime

How does it matter that the words you want to hear are said by you and noone else

So somedays I tell myself..you are strong as hell, noone can touch the fire in you..I am like Dagny Taggart from Atlas Shrugged(someone had actually once said that to me) or Maya Angelou's phenomenal woman

Or some days I revel in my own mystery, and fall in love with my own slightly kohled eyes..
I feel like embodiment of all the secrets a woman is made of..like Binodini of Choker Bali, like Anna of Anna Karenina, like Tess of Tess of D'urbervilles

And on another day when I feel defeated, I feel a nothing, I feel like a wind in barren land..I still presume there is some beauty in that, must be..cos someone like me can not be part of mundane

Yes its just that one last thing about me which keeps me going, that I feel like that about myself..always..forever

Epiphany

There are bits and pieces of us, scattered around in those places and people where our are hearts have found something new, exciting, enriching

when we revisit those places, we revisit ourselves, , we revert a little to the old, feel a little more than usual that we felt off-late

As we try assimilating all that we were..that assimilation gives a little high..to know ourselves as we used to be..to realize there is a faint chance of us getting back to that

But all we do is go in circles around a mass of colossal sadness, making every memory of ourselves ..solidifying that what has been will never again will be

Yet, I hear an old song..and sometimes in midst of all the chaos..I find myself anewed

With some people even the best resort in the heart of Paris does not seem to mean a thing. The beauty of outside seems to taunt and torment the dullness inside. Your heart just does not get engrossed in anything.

And with some the dingiest bar is a place to glorify..the stupidiest joke is worth laughing a 1000 times, everything around that person makes a hell of a memory to go back and play it again and again...for making your life worth something

Unsung deires

There are desires meshed in the pores of her being
And sometimes they come on the surface
Making her glow, they perspire out of her

It's fragrance reaches the one it's meant to

The beauty of her desire was..
that it was flimsy
Like giggles of teenaged girls
Hidden and muffled

She waits, for something within her to be negated
She waits for something to be asserted

There are parts of her
Unknown and unheard

She wanted to explore something
Doesn't remember what
Something of the outside or within..?
Those memories come back when she sees
A stony

She wants to know what else can she be
Away and apart from what she has become

she waits the fire in her to blow out, or to burn her
she is forever waiting, for her calling

she wants to drown all of it, or be drowned in it
there is no midway, it cant be that for her
not her...

The intoxicating loneliess beckons

Everybody wants their share from the world.

Of stolen kisses, clandestine meetings, outrageous fights

Drama satisfies us in some soul gratifying way

Obsessions are what we need
Obsessions to get through the drill..to get past the ordinariness
But pity.. obsessions don't last a lifetime!!

Then as the drama and the passion for it subsides,finality of things dawns on us

You are avenged.,Of being born

Then the  intoxicating loneliess beckons
Lets leave love alone..to perish or to fend for itself

Sharing cos it does not leave me alone

It was Christmas time, a log time ago
Something looked very mysterious about the way clouds overdid the sun and candle lights would show up in houses during day time.
It made me dream and imagine things I cant put my words into

We had tenants who were christians and had invited us to a chirstmas party that year 25th december

But the cold grew into chilly waves and my father decided against going anywhere..
I was (and still am) the kind of person who has to see a plan take off and get done

It makes me edgy, lost and feel like a loser if I dont execute something I want to..or planned
So I fought and argued but at the age of 10, there is hardly much you can do or control anything

So that 25th December sat heavy on my heart for years, tormenting me in various forms

How we always want to live a part or a moment we could not,
How it torments us, that kandeel(paper lamps) I imagined and could not see comes in my dreams and even waking moments
Its something I was supposed to live but did not

That same moist sunless day tantalizes me with some promises, promises which it did not make but I held it reposnsible for

Those childhood/adolescence particles of hope and desire and magic never let go of us..has us in its grips for life..more so if they are unfulfilled