The theros of the setting sun

With every reality comes a perspective. Ours might be skewed. I will preserve mine, for there is not much else to do. 

I un-friended you today. After almost a year of pushing the inevitable.
Just a click of a button, in Life. Tch. 

Distorted visions. Long decayed delicacies. 

Ours had to rot. 

The something about endings. The theros of it. 

The sunsets each day. We will have a new sunset tomorrow. Only you will have yours, I mine. I wish I could have claimed that mine, by the virtue of being by the beach, will be better. Only, I no longer wish to regale you with the wonders of my wanderlust. The corrosion of the seas and the mountains have made home in the impenetrability between us.
I no longer wish I had the power to combat your demons. It’s been exhausting. I am exhausted.
Today, I shall stop wishing unto you, too. 

Know this, my love, the laments come from not only the loss of love, but also the loss of the person that will never again be, the you and the me, the we, long dead anyway. The memoirs, shared, or kept to be revelled in, later; the books, the cinema, the paintings, the dadu-dida and kakima, the lovers, the insatiable lusts, the passion, tears, the ambitions, both the lofty and not-so-lofty ones, the houses and homes, the complaints and glitches, the losses, the all of it that will never again be. I make peace with it today, after months of pretending I have. 

Apologies though, for the painfully lengthy period of life support. It took me some time, a great amount of moving and doing to get here, undoing each pier, one by one lill painful block. I really am exhausted.

Little by little decay will set afoot; perhaps it already had in all its shrouded decorum. Powerful, sentient and vigilant. I like a fool had been gazing into the sunset. 

I leave usually not without goodbyes. Ours is not needed. 

Inertia

PS: From a long time ago. 
Thank God that bitch is done with!

Time to collect those stories

As the smoke from my cigarette blows away in the wind billowing from the open door, sheer darkness of landscape whoosing by, i cannot help but go back to three months ago when i was on the exact same train. Leaving behind the familiar, heading towards moving on.

Life was a different saga back then!
Today, even the same people feel diffrerent. Amusingly, every time i pay attention to the incessant, soothing rhythm of the chanting train, i cannot help but marvel at perspectives, or the lack of them. That lone house by the tracks, with one little lantern lighting up the verandah? Reality checks often come in forms unapprehended!

These three months have passed in the blink of an eye. I've barely seen as many me-s in the last three years, as i have in the last three months. Each time, with a new realization, each time, holding fast a little tighter, hoping to not stumble and make a fool out of my resplendant self. And in that i perhaps bargained for a little more than what i actually deserved. Coherence. I remember thinking at one point, that it would have been a priviledge. I have only recently,  and yet again, learnt that privileges also carve out a nook only when rightfully claimed!

Exactly three months later, as i head back, once again leaving familiarity and fondness behind, I'm a little more prepared to meet the dreary, hostile city at the other end of the train. A little more awake, a lill less apprehensive.  A little more motivated by the light at the end of a tunnel. Or perhaps, just by the thought that this is yet another passing phase. In a month's time, i will merely be reminiscing, perhaps while smoking lazily on a mountaintop, looking out into the endless vistas. Or perhaps when I'm battling to not lose focus during a session of particularly bad sex.  It all will become a new set of drunk stories, itching to be retold.


Priorities,  prioties, my lill princess. Remember, self preservation is paramount?

Bring it on, you dreary city; I may still not be ready for what i am expecting, but this time, I am at least expecting.  Well then,  it is time to collect those stories.
 :)

May love find and keep you

The train has finally picked up speed. The soothing, rhythmic motion has overcome the inertia. It has taken me months to get here. To even get to this place where writing about this does not feel like a call for attention. A superfluous attempt.

Leaving is not new to me. To those that stay, leaving is always a means of escape; those that leave will always tell you that they had to. Without debating the truth of either, leaving is perhaps the toughest call you will make. Inertia will perhaps truly characterize each of those baited-breath moments before you leave. You will wait for something to happen, something that will goad you into action, or inaction, or anything. Then you will leave. Sometimes, so that you can come back, content that you left. Sometimes, so that you can find new shores. Sometimes simply so that you can leave.

I leave a sizable chunk of my life and a done up apartment behind in Kolkata today. For the first time in years, I knowingly wanted to keep alive a thread of attachment in the lanes I’m forgoing for another. An apartment that is set up as home. For those who wander to find home, will always want to keep whatever semblance they can find of it.  Going through life and my older posts sometimes makes me chuckle at my own search. Perhaps the knowledge that there is one I can call my own is a comfort. Perhaps it is only another throbbing thread of attachment kept alive for the one place I’ve always come back to; or wanted to. Time and again.

As life tossed everything I knew to be true and over time grew familiar and comfortable with, in the course of a few bad months and a few more worse instances of inertia, some that were mine, some that I took upon myself, the only realization that has stayed is that of self, and that it is to be valued and preserved over all else. Time tests everything. And many that you thought were failsafe will fail. Some, quite to your surprise and distaste. You will mourn the loss; you will then, at some point again, pick up the pieces and build new forts and cities. Inertia is only a static state of being; a stagnant one at that. New chapters and new stories will demand telling. And you ruffle through the pages before you move on to the next chapter. But move on, you will. To the next halt. And then another!

:)

As I leave, here’s to the memory of that inertia. You did me no good. But without you, I would not again so badly have welcomed the restlessness. Here’s to each of my friends who became and to each that didn’t stay; you know who you are. Here’s to all those bonds I unmade over the last few months, here’s to the few new ones I made. Here’s to the life I lived and loved and here’s to the new one I’m about to embrace. Here's to all the times I stayed, and all the times I packed up and left. Here’s to all those posts in my drafts that did not make it, here’s to this one. 

May love find and keep you!  

Paradoxes. As they exist.

“Because Margo knows the secret of leaving, the secret I have only just now learned; leaving feels good and pure only when you leave something important, something that mattered to you. Pulling life out by the roots. But you can’t do that until your life has grown roots.”

Paradoxes. As they exist.
As though life was inevitably designed this way. To go through the motions of the crests and troughs endlessly, indulging in each, then absolving each.

The gaping hole in the ground, that once was held together by the roots, then ascertains a new identity. Soon, the storyteller will fill it with his own stories.

I like the idea of being driven alone over flyovers. It's a high. Lets me look down upon the otherwise so spuriously tall billboards.

Post modern attempts at un-vulnerabalization?

Sometimes, I begin to think about us - we the self-proclaimed superior creations of Nature, made in what we call {insert personal faith equivalent}'s own image. Then, upon not-so-keen, just essentially detached observation, I begin to ponder about the extent of the flawed-ness we own and exhibit. Another thought thread shoots off, sensing the window of opportunity and begins to wonder that if that is the image we were created in, ummn, well that not exactly what you would call a very worthy standard to have to live upto.

Anyhow, I catch the other (original) thought thread, by its collar and divert greater segments of attention to it. Flawed creatures. Yes, despite being the sharpest and allegedly the most evolved species we are still the only ones who fight about science and god, rape children, whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears, wage wars, walk across countries to meet love, expect love to wait for them, bake cakes, read, write or paint, hurt and kill in cold-blood, make angry promises, write love letters, make love, make and take heartbreak, la di dah.

As we grow older we begin to see, like i keep saying, the world with a lill bit of the rose-tint peeling off bit by patient bit, and we grow cynical. Yet, how existentially vulnerable we become in the process. And inspite of life, love, long-island-ice-teas or lacerations, we do not learn to un-vulnerablize ourselves. We perhaps learn to find our work-arounds, but never extricate ourselves from the vagaries of expectations. We may close ourselves off to them, distract ourselves, do everything that we can in good faith to close ourselves from the inevitable disappointments of expectations, but never, never are we able to not succumb to how vulnerable it makes us.  At these times, I'm often envious of the unthinking lot. I think they have it easier. I also sometimes that, that us, the thinking lot, project these insecurities unto ourselves to make ourselves seem grave, despressionistic and thus important. For no one pays much attention to the frivolous.

Then I think of what many authors have said about Dolphins. And I tend to agree.