Unsure (Draft since 2007)

" Do you believe that God gives everyone only as much pain as you can handle?" she asked me. 

"No" - i shot back, without a blink. 

"I don't believe in a God that gives you problems. 
I don't believe you're only given as much as you can handle. 
How then, do you explain nervous breakdowns? How do you explain suicides and lives frittered away?

and on the other hand,

People who come into their own and discover just how much they're capable of during a crisis?

All the troubles you face in life, are because everything that happens, someone or the other is affected by it." 

"How can you say that, she countered. Are you saying it's all a coincidence?"

It's been a while since we met. (Draft from 2014)

What is it about putting thoughts out there that inspire you to take it further?

Looking back, I can see why youth is so prized. To me, it's the enthusiasm, energy and naive optimism of youth that's so seductive.

Is that something you can only have when you're young? No. But when you're young, you can dust it off and walk away easy- what's to lose-the world is at my fingertips.

------

Your brain is constantly coming up with thoughts. And when words get stuck in your head and aren't let out, they start clogging your brain. They form layer upon layer and huge boxes of unopened words and thoughts. They start piling one on top of the other like dishes left in the sink way past their time. It's easy to forget about them. How can you not, when there's so much. To do, so many people to meet, so much work to be done, so many updates and posts to be read, so many emails to check and songs to hear and clothes to buy.

The boxes start getting hungry then, and demand copious amounts of chips, and alcohol, and weed, and clothes and shoes and bags. The more you pile on the boxes, the hungrier they get till you forget the boxes are there till you can only see the pile of chips that need to be replenished and bowls of ice cream that are nearing empty and need refilling lest you be stuck with a hungry head and an empty bowl. They can devour you in the end and eat through your head and heart and life unless they're opened and the words let out. Those boxes are heavy and rusty and covered in piles and piles of icreamclothesshoeschipsgoo, but they need to be opened nonetheless, so you can live and love and lie and laugh. 

Another day in paradise

I've just walked out of Tesco, to pick up some essentials for breakfast the next day. I'm tense from the morning. Dad's in hospital in Kerala, diagnosed with dengue. I'm worried for him and feeling limited, not able to be there and help. I'm slightly annoyed and feeling a bit sorry for myself and confused. 

She sits in the street under the shade of a postbox. I see her and think about crossing over to the other side of the road to avoid interacting with her. 

Her face wears a weather beaten expression, sun browned with slightly distant eyes. Like she's looking into someplace past the here and now. I decide to walk over instead, and I ask her if she'd like some food. A nod and a strangled whisper - Yes. I dig into my bag, offer her the three bananas I have in it. She takes them, keeps them in her bag (I can see she has some nectarines in it). She makes a finger gesture that looks a bit like a '2'. I silently wonder if she's asking me for money. 

'Sorry?' I say. In a slightly unfamiliar tone - almost  as if she's testing out the words, she responds: 'Thenk you'. My heart goes out. I want to hug her and talk to her. Find out how she got here, ask her if there's anything I can do to help. 

Instead, I nod and walk away. 

I want to go back, offer her understanding and a listening ear. Something tells me she hasn't had that in a while. I don't turn back. I keep walking ahead, straight to the H&M in Brixton, and browse clothing.

Chicken soup for the soul

Slap! Kick! Take a knife and plunge in through and through
And then let it out and go again.
Carve any picture you like - let it go where it wants
Then throw in a few punches for good measure.
Pull out the heart- whatever’s left of that decaying thing
Splash it on the floor
Let the three inch heels spluch it lil by bit.
Jump till I count three and then go for three more
And then we’ll think up something else to finally settle the score.

Free

Women singing old Hindi songs in the train. Was beautiful.
Middle class women with a hundred daily restraints singing boldly – loudly in the train. Drawing comfort from the other voices singing along with them, and boldly raising their voices to drown each other out. Singing songs of love, and innocence – of hope and romance. Made me wish for it in their lives.
I guess I have become cynical. Is it the sign of a cynic when you find something beautiful and see the deeper hurt in it? And find it even more beautiful for having been in the face of the hurt.
I think that was what was most beautiful about this. These women were completely untouched by any trace of cynicism when they sang of hope

There she goes again!

Know how you look back at some times n realise that they were among your happiest? It's funny how it's so rarely that you feel that completely happy WHILE you're living that time. Well I AM living that time right now. n I'm LOVING it! :D Life's GOOD! n being 21 kicks ass!!!

When everything's made to be broken...I Just want you to know who i am...

People who are really really close to you. People YOU are really really close to..People you think you 'Know'. Ones you've spent 10-12 years with..others you've spent a few months or days with, but ones you think you know, nonetheless. What do you do when they spring surprises on you? Some you've been expecting unconsciously...others that hit you like a speeding truck. Wham! Does it break something? Does it leave a gash? Sometimes. It feels like nothing at others- at least consciously. How do you recover from something like that? Do you stop trusting? Do you half trust and pull yourself out when you feel it's getting messy? Do you trust and leave yourself open to the slashing? What do you do? Do you lose your faith? Or hold on to it like the only threads of sanity in the world that's forever tearing apart? Can you ever really know who i am?