as i move through

To a majority of those whom I speak with, I have quite often mentioned how badly I want to leave home. I don’t say that with bitterness or sadness. I only say that i want to fly away from home. Lately, I have been reflecting over why I so fondly speak of leaving home. Not really sure where I am headed with all the reflection but I am certain that a lot of it has to do with the noise. I am not someone who is fond of it. It is always noisy at home. Father always has something or the other to comment on. Mother always has a retort ready at the tip of her tongue. My brother lives in a noisy world inside his headphones. Oreo is ever ready to bark at the slightest of movements anywhere near his vision. And then there is the TV - always blaring in a foreign language every time that I am home. I had rare quiet days while growing up too. TV was not my choice when I was younger. We were a radio family. I grew up listening to the radio jockeys, making new favorite songs every other week. A ...

A week ago, something bad and wrong happened to me. People told me I took a “brave” step, did something right. Many came up to me and told me I had done something that many couldn't. They told me I had done something they hadn't. They told me they are proud of me. I was scared. I was terrified by what had happened and also I was hoping something positive would come out of the step I had taken. But above all that, I still hadn't been able to be proud of myself. I still hadn't been able to say it out loud that I was brave. But I walked home today. All the way from Gyaneswor to Kalanki. It’s 5:40 PM I have my sweatshirt on and I am ready to leave work. A week ago, I was wearing the same sweatshirt and had left work at around this time. That day, I had planned to walk home. Today, I hadn’t. Today, it was an impromptu decision. Last week, I was harassed as I walked a few steps away from work. That is another story. I remember the police officers’ wide eyed expression w...

I don’t have a jacket with me. December has already started. The morning and evening hours these days are cold and harsh. But I like cold. I love winter. But I really don’t think I can say that today. I can’t tell if it is the winter chill that is making me shiver or the anger bubbling inside me after what I went through. I just sit there and watch. I take in every little detail of this unfamiliar place- knowing all too well inside me that I don’t want to come in here again. People in uniform are asking questions to me. A lot of them. I answer it all. It’s almost as if I am reading out from a script. But this is a script that I don’t want another soul to ever read again. I don’t want another living being to go through what I went through today and have to say this to people in uniform. As I walked out from work today, I was harrassed. A person hugged and inappropriately touched me from behind and simply walked away in a rush, whispering into the air: “Sorry, malai hatar cha”. I st...

Maybe you didn't know…maybe you still don't. The moment you said your name to me, I decided to keep it as my own and cherish it more than anything I had ever loved. Your name, your smile, your eyes and all the little things about you - I took it all in, soaked it all in, under my skin. And there is your smile etched perfectly in my heart like a mark of a vein running somewhere inside me, like a scar similar to the ones that line my wrists; but only with a different essence altogether. You also took my name. Almost promised to protect it, protect me from all the wrong and hurtful things out in the world. You hinted a sign - a sign that you were worth it and that is exactly why I let you in. And yet, here you are writing my name at the shore, watching as the waves take away pieces of me - one at a time, bit by bit. Maybe, you took it for granted. Maybe, you took me for granted. Well, I am everything, but that. You are probably thinking I have dr...

Escape is a strong word. Don’t you think? As strong as it is, it is also powerful. I like the idea of escape. When I say that, I do not escape of the problems or the uncomfortable circumstances that life throws at me. I would rather see myself live and grow through them than escape. When I say that I like the idea of escape, I mean to say that I like the idea of getting to escape reality for a moment be it at difficult times or simpler ones. To escape does not have to mean to run away. When I say escape, I mean to acknowledge and see things in a different light than how you perceive it at any given moment. When it’s time for me to walk through busy streets filled with hustling skin and bones, I like the thought of escape. I would rather like to watch myself drift among the bodies walking past me than walk past them myself. There are times when I like to escape reality more often than not just because reality is a little too much overwhelming for me. Given the choice to escape re...

Whenever someone mentions “chiya”, what do you think of or rather who do you think of? Whenever someone mentions “chiya” to me, I think of conversations and people. And as someone who has never really been good with either of them, I could not really ever come to terms with “chiya”. At home, mum has to have three cups of tea before actually starting her day. The first is a strong black tea, followed by a sweet milk tea and finally a milder milk tea. Do not ask me why. Please. Do not. Because, honestly, I don't know. Every time we have an argument over how it is always late for lunch at home, I keep mentioning her early morning tea drinking ritual. A bad strategy, but well, it always becomes my best argument. Moving on, I am now going to tell you why I was a tea-virgin for almost a decade. The tea rituals my mum religiously follows is not hers alone. My dad is her partner in crime. After every sip that they took of their three different varieties of tea, there followed...

When someone asks you about peace, what do you think of? For  me, it is not the silence rather- it’s the sound of the raindrops against my window, it’s the beat of my favorite song, it’s the warmth of Oreo’s fur against my skin, it’s the comfort of food when I am home hungry and tired… It’s in the little things that I get peace. Peace is not really something definite. It’s an abstract for which each human has his/her own definition. Right now, as I am writing this, it is raining outside, a light-continuous drizzle since yesterday, which is giving me peace. But this very rain has been causing havoc elsewhere- degrading the peace. My definition of peace might be your definition of noise and that is alright. To be writing about peace, when my life itself is in a chaotic mess seems like a very, very strange thing to do. But, the rain is helping and I am not in any state to complain. To attain peace is not a mission to be accomplished, rather it is a continuous process. It i...

What is it like to look back and reflect upon who you are and who you used to be? This one thought is running circles inside my head, knocking at my heart, probing and prodding, as I begin to write this. More often than not, as we think of change, we choose to see the heartache, the pain, that made us undergo it. More then than not, we are left thinking about those days and nights we spent curled up in bed. What I think is the most scariest thing in the whole world is the feeling of helplessness- you know it's there, but you can't do anything about it, because you don't know how to bring yourself up.You remember that, too. Those moments of excruciating pain, the weight on your heart, the helplessness. All of it. Whenever you think of change, they are all there- holding hands, standing tall and proud. As a little girl, I have had this notion about giving, towards believing that something good is out there and we just have to have a little faith. I grew up wanting to se...

Between my father's short temper, my mother's never stopping chattering and my brother’s silent nods, I have molded myself. I really believe that we don't grow up with age. It's the experiences and the journey that grows us, not our birthdays that we celebrate every year. Living is more about taking risks, thinking and doing out of the box than merely staying alive. Life offers us several little moments that actually show us what life is about. This past year, two of my best friends moved away to foreign lands to pursue further education. One of them was my neighbor, my childhood sweetheart, who had been with me since grade one, who I could always run to if my day went off or started getting dull. The other was the one who taught me how it actually felt to be held when I was broken, the one I am in love with. Now that they are both a thousand miles apart, I often feel that I never told them enough how much I looked up to them, how much I loved both of them. Them mo...

letter by letter she tells a story a story of ache, a story of joy a story of tears. she writes them one letter at a time. braille on her wrists and the stains on her cheeks. skin and bone. she tells a story. every time i see her, do you think i trace the braille? no. i don't. i’d rather solve the riddles she speaks. i’d rather follow the shine in her eyes. i'd rather uncover the scribbles she makes. i'd rather sing along to her songs. i'd rather find ways to see her shine. her coffee is strong and black, but her pen writes in pink. her shadow walks alone, but her head moves in gardens. her songs are a bit messy, but her laughter is magic. her steps get tangled in directions, but her smile, oh, her smile… if you saw her, you'd know.

I can't seem to find the courage to look my mother in the eye and tell her I am not hungry. Nor do I have the courage to tell my father I don't have the courage to go see my friend for the last time. But when Maamu calls me for breakfast, I oblige; when Daddy tells me to take some flowers, I pluck the two marigold blooms in front of me. I slip on an oversized t-shirt, pull on my tights, slip on a pair of flats and leave home. I am scared, but I don't want to cry. I take a bus to my best friend's home and listen to the old pop song blaring on the radio in the bus. I put my head on the windowsill and let it's vibration run through me. The window is open, the morning sun is blazing through it, the dirt on the road is flying everywhere. But I sit unfazed. Such trivial worries, I think. I know.  Why am I going to my best friend's, you ask? It's because I am scared and I don't know what to do. But I know that if I have a hand to hold, I will...

The clank of wood. The broken bricks poking at your heels. The eagles hovering high up above. The gloom in the sky. The smell of smoke and carcass. The echoing howls of misery. The conch competing with the cries. The weight of unshed tears. You see it. Yu feel it You smell it. You accept it. One moved on to a better place. Left so many behind: Family. Friends Left so much undone: Dreams. Promises. Stories. Memories. Ache. Pain. ... Void. You watch the father, Note their striking resemblance. You hear the mother, Feel her tears and yet not know their weight. Slowly succumbing to numbness, You seek an escape. You can't. You don't find the courage, the will. Glimpses and voices, Keep coming back at you. They won't ever stop, will they? … Silence. The fingertips turn white, yet you can't let go. The shoulder you c...