Psychedelic Slippers

You were naive to think, love would be easy or that, i'd make it any easier or that it'd be a picture perfect romance (glittering stars, silent night et al ) and you are naive today to think, i'd make it any easier, now.

Image picked from: Koimoi.com I am no subdued Rajouri garden types, but in the first few minutes into Queen, in that heart splitting moment, when her fiance breaks up with an all-in-tears Kangana, and she walks out only to return back and plead to him not to break up, while he is irritated over the tamasha her tears are creating in the public, it was me. It was there that the movie became real for me. But I don’t have a pre-planned honeymoon trip to go on, and neither a granny with cool words of wisdom. I live in a hostel bound by an ever-growing things-to-do list. And even if I did, I reckon I would bump into friendly foreigners who’d take me on a ride of my life. I would be too cautious for that. But I’d still let the movie be my story. To give a poker face to your ex whom you bump into every day is a test of your strength that you have to pass every day. One would wish one was as naive as Queen, so it would be easy to let go? I drift. That’s not the point here. I d...

Not a rose tailored to perfection, one hand-picked, off a rose bush, Fragile, petals that whimper Or may be a heart askew, filled with lines uncertain, “Red scarlet or Red violet?” Or a sticky note on the door, just before rush hour, begins, “Dinner at eight!” Or a song half written, for love, on a sojourn, “I love you, you love me too” Or being unsure, is Love, loving to love you? or Loving you love, to love you? Or finding the cracks, only to fill them up, “You may be broken, but I am the glue” ---*--*--- Happy Valentine's day Folks

Here, lifeless now, you were perfect; if not for the eyes that make you, so surreal. How could you do it? How did you pull yourself? (or push, I must say) Was it easy, giving up? How did you know? You had to stop? That there was nothing ahead, that you wouldn't, regret, wouldn't look back, and say, "I wish". What crushed you? Did you see yourself breaking? Crumbling, collapsing... Was it slow? like crawling to the finish line, pulling each muscle to make it! Would you think otherwise, now? Now, being a passer-by. Would you change ? Would you trade places and be, me, instead.

25 is a funny age to be. Especially when it just turns the tables and you know nothing that you knew any more. Everything has changed. You tell yourself, “It has changed for Good”. And you define good in your head. Yet in your weakest of moments you transport yourself to the safety of two arms, that are now just in your head, but they tell you it will be okay. That your world is what it was. That you aren't a homeless wanderer, that there is a home, there is a pair of arms. They tell you and you believe them. And you sleep off in their comfort, only to wake up the next day and Break your heart all over. It’s the price of freedom, you tell yourself. This feeling of homeless, you have to live with it. And that searing pain you feel, you wonder if its regret or hope. But you hope it’s neither. Where is freedom you scream, and then you run. Yet nothing moves, and you wish you could run in time instead and days would fly forward, or fly back. That you could transport yourself to ...

"When you drop a glass or a plate to the ground it makes a loud crashing sound. When a window shatters a table leg breaks or when a picture falls off the wall it makes a noise. But as for your heart when that breaks it s completely silent. You would think as it s so important it would make the loudest noise in the whole world or even have some ... Read Moresort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell. But it s silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain. If there is a noise it s internal. It screams and no one can hear it but you. It screams so loud your ears ring and your head aches. It trashes around in your chest like a great white shark caught in the sea it roars like a mother bear whose cub has been taken. That s what it looks like and that s what it sounds like a trashing panicking trapped great big beast roaring like a prisoner to its own emotions. But that s the thing about love no one is untouchable."  ...

I don't remember how old I was then, could have been 6-7 or 8. There were these bunch of play mates i had, who would always bully me, and I would rush crying home every evening. I would keep cribbing i don't have friends. ( I have always been obsessed with that word i presume) , so one fine evening, dad picks up a story book, puts it in my 3" palms and says, "Here, books are your best friends, they will never let you down". I don't know if it was my blind faith in everything that dad said, that i took the words so much to heart. But from then on till date, they've stayed by my side. Faithfully. Through thick and thin, time and again, i've found solace in books, from adventures in the magic faraway tree, to Santiago's (ref. Alchemist) desert odyssey. They have advised me, in the most exquisite ways. They have taught me to fight, love and empathize. They have always opened my heart for this one other perspective, that one can always accommodate. ...