Possesions.

Some people and some days are so beautiful at their rawest forms. And then they are suppressed under the growing needs of being better. The new gets old, the good gets okay and someone who was the world to You, becomes a mere part of your history. The beginning is exciting, it’s new and it’s pretty convincing that the end and the time that runs along with it will be equally exciting. We are all destined to something or another, whether you believe in fate or Not, you either are destined or you create your own fate. Certain relationships, situations and feelings also tend to be destined to end somewhere, either in a way too magical or absolutely ugly. But it’s not what happens, you see, we are all fools wearing masks made of emotions. We are all fools pretending to be wise with all the thoughts and knowledge we have garnered through experiences and so we often believe we are pretty aware of what’s going to happen next. But alas! Often we know how the sex, the money, our mansions will turn out, often we know their fate, but to the sadness that we don’t feel, most of the times we are bewildered about the destiny assigned to the non materialistic things in life that are not be actually called things, because they are the possessions that are the Closest to God but yet are the possessions that makes us more human. Love, time, memories and emotions, empathy and the moments that raise all of these possessions with itself. As a human, these should have been very much more natural to us, but now they’re just something we need to be told to possess, we need to be tortured to realize and tormented within the minds of us and others when not felt. The saddest part of these possessions is That, they are irreversible when changed or disturbed and people dont realize that fact until it actually happens, they forget to preserve it or maybe they don’t even try. The regret is powerful but some people are even immune to the regret and some people feel the regret but don’t seem to recognize it. The worst kind off people are the one who feel the regret but don’t recognise it. They regret but they yet are to be forced to accept those possessions, they are yet to take it as a natural instinct, they are yet to accept it as a part of them, not as something someone should force them to have. Moments, moments can change, the person might be the same but the moments you have with that person can be completely different with respect to time and other moments that can impacts.

There can be a day, a situation where you’re at a different position and so is the other Person, you’re seeing the euphoric things and feeling the strongest connection but as time goes by, the positions may change and maybe one of them stops accepting either empathy, emotion, love as their own and the moments are altered. The happiest of moments turn the gloomiest of memories one can have.

It’s a strong factor and often ignored. These self possessions control the people you’ll have in life, the love you’ll earn and the longevity of your ability to possess the non materialistic segments of life that makes you more human. It controls the kind of moments you’ll have and the kind of memories you’ll take with your self to your grave.

Carousel cries.

It was one of those evenings with Vermillion skies,

Mother gave me her finger to hold and so did father, as I was swinging in between them, my feather-like self hanging and holding on to their fingers with my tiny grip.

The fair was flamboyant and ever welcoming,

It was one of those beautiful dusks that you can anticipate to end up as one of your most joyous memory some day in future.

I walked through the crowds, still holding tight, I looked at all the colourful candyfloss on sticks, I could see all the balloons and toys. It made me feel happy but greed wasn’t a friend of mine, Wasn’t a foe. It was just a stranger to me back then.

Every swing and ride scared me. I was very timid and certainly very much of a coward. When all the children my age would pull off their parents’ hair in stubbornness to ride on swings, I would just quietly try to walk my way out of the idea of doing so as a child.

Mother, father were extremely kind to me as a kid, I was their beloved one, they aimed to carve me into a brave person. But, unlike everyone my age, I was an absolute coward. I was scared of the pettiest things.

As the fair was getting brighter and the music on the carousels louder, the tune of the music and the sound of the childrens’ laughter caught my mother’s attention. She held my little self by the waist in an attempt to put me on one of the horses. She knew how much I was fond of the colour blue. She held me tight right away and raised me up to one of the most vividly coloured minty-blue horses with yellow lights on.

I wasn’t happy at all, I was scared, distressed and was already in tears…. I yelled at the top of my lungs and everyone’s eyes watching stared at this little kid crying like a miserable three year old… Oh wait, I WAS a miserable three year old back then. They probably assumed that I was being kidnapped or something and My parents knew they owe them an explanation, which they did.

Well it was my first ever ‘Carousel cry.’

And then I grew up, I grew up to be exactly the opposite of who I was as a little child. I had this power and position in the society and every human I knew was either the people so as equal to me or the ones who survived under my sole. I was not scared of anything, I was successful, powerful and most importantly, independent. I felt the superiority in my veins.

I was able to achieve so much in my life, so much that I couldn’t have ever even comprehend to imagine I would. It was my pride. I was my pride.

And then there would be days I would be sipping on my morning himalayan tea, thinking of my days of cowardice and laugh at it, mockingly enough.

“Oh you were such a little loser, weren’t you? Haha.”

Well what will that even matter now? I was so certain that I was way past that self of mine, I was so aware that I changed myself all by my own and was able to be where I’m standing now.

And now I’m here, Sitting on one of the horses of this broken carousel. No one comes here now, It’s all in ruins, no lights but the paint on the horses still as fresh and bright as it was 25 years ago, just with a little dust to accompany them. I sit and I wish I wasn’t this much drowned in my own pride all throughout these years. I sit here reminiscing the words my mother said the last time we were here during the fair, “Get on the swing, I know you can do it, You’re brave, right?, Come on, little one, I believe in you, I believe in you.” She whispered to me as she raised me to one of the blue horses, I cried and I failed back then. A few years later, I left my home at fifteen, in search of freedom. I was scared and was still a coward. Everyday I would whisper to myself the chant my mom whispered to me each and every day of those fifteen years, “I believe in you, You’re brave.” And I would reach the heights.

Here I’m sitting on the ride, mother. Im sorry you’re not here to see me conquering my fears, Im sorry that I’ve been lost since the last 13 years and you could never see my face. I thought I was brave, I thought I was the only one who was the bravest of all. But I’m so wrong, I was such a coward to not even call you or meet you both even once during my days of happiness. Im so sorry, I couldn’t remember you, mother, father.

I’m sorry that I never thanked you for helping me conquer my fears, Im sorry I didn’t thank you for giving me that Chant, mother. But I’m still a coward, I am, as I could never for even once remember you. As I sit here, realizing that fact. Anne Frank was right, Regret is so much stronger than gratitude, isn’t it?

And here I am crying, yelling at the top of my lungs but the only differences are, no one to watching stare, no one you owe an explanation to, and the memory definitely didn’t turn out to be the most joyous one, and today, I am finally sitting on that exact blue horse you raised me up to while whispering with your beautiful voice thats now all in the stars, somewhere pairing up with father’s.

Here I am, serenading my carousel cries,

It is one of those evenings with Vermillion skies.

I, Sunflower.

I remember when I was a seed,

I was soft but with a harder shell,

No one to protect me.

I remember, my siblings being a taste on the tongue of the same kind who nurtured me

And whom you nurture.

As I grew up, I was always so still,

I was always to still, with no one to look up to

As I grew up, at times struggling with the wind

But oh then? I was in love with you.

Then I woke up, each day during a new summer wave.

I woke up, each day, unconditionally in love with you.

Waking up to your love, falling on me,

Fragile, but widespread, yet I called you my own.

I woke up, each day, looking up to you.

I, I’ve always been so awake in the warmth of your fondness,

As you kindled my mellow colours with your gleam,

I blushed through my petals,

I, a mere living one, out of all your lovers on earth.

I, I kept waking up next to you,

So loyal to you, And lived for each day with you,

I, the one who shuns nights,

Sadly do I accept your departure,

As you leave, I stay, but all in gloom and all in dismay.

I wait for your return, with no drowse

And as you blossom between the heavenly cotton balls,

I turn my head around.

I turn my head around, to adore your existence,

For you kept me thriving and kept me loyal to your divine rays.

And for I was yet a mere living one, out of all your lovers on earth,

But I was unconditionally in love with you,

through days and even through nightfalls.

For I was yet so unknown to you,

How will you know my love, if you not know me?

So here is an introduction,

If you may accept, I shall give it to you?

My name will say it all,

about my love which is no less of an obsession,

My name speaks my love,

My name is a collision of two destined lovers

Who are yet to meet, Yet so far, millions of miles away

But so in love, so much meant to stay

So, here is the introduction,

If you may accept, I shall give it to you?

I, sunflower, so in love with you.

Layers

A cold, cold mess she was

When she stepped out of her closet,

A secretive maiden of words strong, actions stronger,

She wasn’t hiding, but she was yet to be found

Who was she even, what is she called?

Under each layer, it was different and uglier,

But who was she, residing beneath all the layers?

I can state my words stronger now, she was way beyond your known reality.

A carousel of despair, A roller coaster of disaster

She looked beautiful from the far off lands,

But only until you explore her,

She’s the magic mirror of truth, none can break.

Beneath all the layers, she thrived.

She was unlike everything everyone saw,

She was of a potent demeanor,

A little miss demoness.

Who was she, the one spitting fire under those layers?

She was the Reality.

The reality, suppressed under the innumerable filters of life,

The reality, colour corrected under the many layers of skin,

The reality, killed under the multitudinous pseudo smiles,

The reality, which you discerned on your first cry,

The reality you’ll discern never again, until the last years you’d survive.

She was the one, who was never unleashed,

Always hidden beneath all the layers,

Suffocated, but still the truest of all,

She was hidden from the world,

She was frightening, and not beautiful enough to be presentable.

But she was she,

Hiding beneath all the attractive layers,

The little miss demoness, The reality.

Old Man Ahmad’s Garden.

Apart from the fact that I was born and raised in Seattle, Washington, my parents were never really much unbiased, well I don’t know why.

I am Sahasmita Jain.

So here it goes, pretty cliché but I’ll warrant it’s true.

So, just like in movies, My dad met my mom here in Seattle when they both migrated here. They met in a park and boom, you know, things just happened, let’s keep it here.

I was raised with very Indian ethics. Yeah. I was never really into exploring my world or other’s ever. I was told not to but it wasn’t really a restriction but I never wanted to anyway..

Every now and then i would visit India, and that’d be the time I would ever really feel free, taste the freedom and live all my youth away. It sounds weird but I felt less shackled in India than in Seattle.

I felt happiest ever.

I was never too educated, never felt what being wise was like, i was dumb and everything was unknown to me. Nobody taught me anything ever but even at times if they did, i was too arrogant to accept any bit of it, my want to learn and know was very limited.

And there was this time when I seriously and honestly wished i would have tried to educate myself about the aspects of life. I thought everyone was same, the life was same for all, i thought things happened in a planned manner for all. Well to be precise, i never knew what “life happens” or “life fucks you up” meant, I thought how? How will it even? I thought that we are just born and are raised and stay abided by the “laws of nature”.

But oh boy, fuck me.

I was so, so very wrong.

And i never knew life would give me a practical lesson on it.

As i said, India was my first love, although i didn’t visit it frequently but every time I did, it felt new

The smell of curry in my nose was better than any coke ever, I ain’t even kidding.

And that’s the place, here, here I realized what power life possessed, it brought me on my damn knees.

It was back in the beautiful autumn days in India.

I belonged from Himachal Pradesh, not just physically but spiritually.

I visited almost every possible place here. Often enough, I would sit in my nana’s Garden and smoke some good stuff, often mixing and experimenting.

I would spend the rest of the evening glancing at his beautiful flowers.

My nana passed away almost a decade ago but the care takers of this place didn’t ever give up their effort to keep him alive through my nana’s love of flowers.

My nana was the most positive person one could’ve ever known, he was happy and cheerful but most importantly, he was mischievous and free. He was a rule breaker and to sum everything up, he was the best ever, his smile was not just the prettiest one but so was his heart.

Growing up, every rule I broke was with Nana, as a jain girl, the first rule i ever broke was, I ate something that wasn’t just veg for the first time and that too with some sauce that contained garlic and since then it was my last. I never dared to ever break any rule under my parents, well actually I never thought about it. Never. I was so busy living the life with the same old flow, It never occurred to me that life was to be lived, not just to be passed.

Well, anyways, this place was regal and it had a lot of antiques placed in a row in the naked wooden shelf with no veneer on top to dress it. It was pretty much as undressed as my Nana’s mind was.

You could smell the jasmines in the summer time.

You could see those beautiful calendulas blooming in the cold days of Himachal Pradesh.

So, this year, 2018,I decided that I want this year to blossom my freedom more.

I was determined enough to make more memories and share them with myself when I return to Seattle. I wanted to capture it in photographs and some softly colored scenes of India in my GoPro. I loved Himachal, no doubt, but I wanted to explore more, although I did visit Ranchi, Delhi and kerala each once in my life but I always missed my bucket list wish to visit Mumbai. I heard they call it City of dreams, which was exactly contradictory for me because… Well, here I found my reality, here I discovered what reality of life was, here I realized how Reality can be way beyond what you expected it to be like. It was it. It was Mumbai, The city of Realization and Reality for me.

Maa sent me these baskets she specially handcrafted for one of my Nana’s very special and close friends, He shared the same interests as my nana, they both were literally inseparable. I still doubt if whether death did ever actually separate them because I always saw the reflection of my Nana’s smile in his eyes, might sound so unreal but it never occured to me until this visit. The last time I saw him was when Nana took me to his house and introduced me to him and his small collection of flowers, a miniature Garden at the huge backyard of his house.

Anyways, I decided to visit him once I’m back from my trip to Mumbai.

17th October, Wednesday.

The day is finally here, I’m all ready with not much of a heavy luggage, just some clothes to get me through a couple of weeks in Mumbai, some souvenirs, my instant camera, my chargers and earphones and every necessary thing that would make my visit efficient. I was not the type of person who was scared of travelling or who needed a lot of material or collection of illogical and unimportant items to reassure myself about the journey, I enjoyed my visits the way it is, without any extra stuff to help me pass the days, i enjoyed every little thing about traveling and exploring, every little time I spent at a different place was fruitful to me in every possible way.

So my ticket flashed 4:45 am. I woke up at 3:00 and got out of my house within 15 mins, Mama ji drove from North oak to Jubbarhatti real quick, the lack of traffic was indeed very peaceful, not to exaggerate or something but I almost felt like jumping out of the car not being able to believe how for a moment, my life went so peaceful. So here we were at the Shimla Airport at 4:15 or something and that was the start of this wholesome journey.

After almost 6 hours of an endless flight, i reached the Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport and found a ride, as soon as I reached my hotel the first thing I searched for was my earphones and I started listening to some classics, I was enjoying the air of Mumbai although it was unbelievably hot in here, Octobers in Mumbai are really hot, it isn’t autumn here yet, it’s still summer like and I kind of knew about it so I got my beach clothes and summer dresses packed. I contacted my friends in here to help me score some good quality weed and woah, less than an hour, they were here with some fine bud and paper. We sat on the bed, talked, smoked and ate a lot of vada pavs that they specially brought for me. An hour passed and we were really high, I kind off started to realize how bland tasting those vada pavs were and how much i needed water to stop myself from coughing out my lungs and guts off my mediocre ass looking body, I vigorously attacked on the bisleri bottle nearby and almost pulled open the cap and sipped on it slowly. And, finally, once again, the Calm was back.

The high felt much comfortable and easy going now. As some hours passed my friends started to leave, while Joseph insisted to stay and I didn’t refuse. He stayed for a while, he really had this urge to share something and I assured him that he should. “I know this girl, she’s incredible…” He started.

“I met her at juhu, she is not very literate but she’s so incredible, she’s not famous or anything, but she’s so hot, yk. We hung out together, we call each other and we are apparently in a relationship. But”..

“But?” I asked.

“Well, she seems not too excited about having me, kinda same but at times, just straight up boring.”

“I’ve been trying to meet her but she keeps denying. I mean, I really see dreams with her, I honestly do. But at times I question myself, what if she’s a player?”

He sighed.

“What makes you think that way?” I asked, although I knew I wasn’t the right person who could give a good advice but my mind insisted on listening. I was rather questioning myself about how a girl could do this to Joesph? He was such a nice guy after all. Good looking, young blooded and respectful in every way possible.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s that but it might be the.. you know, religion thing? Could it be? Sahasmita?” He asked me, looking straight into my eyes, almost in a dead like stare.

“Ah, joseph, I really don’t know.” I said and honestly, for a moment, I did think it might be that.

“Sahasmita, I need you to help me. Okay? I’ve really not been feeling well lately. You’re here for a few weeks only, I want you to talk to her. If nothing happens, this entire incident will go away with you, back to Himachal. I can’t trust my friends, they’ll start judging me or might make a bigger deal out of it and apparently Mansi will never be able to exit my life, my thoughts. Oh yes, Did I forget to tell? Her name is Mansi. ” He ended. He walked up, handed me her address and left. He said that she lived in a huge mansion, he directed me to ask the servants about her and they’ll guide me to her room.

The next day, I decided to travel to Belapur to meet this mystery lady, Mansi.

After an hour or so, I found her mansion. It was huge, very beautiful and looked very Royal. As I entered, I saw the servants working in the yard. I said I’m a friend and they took me to her room.

“Mansi, beta, you got a friend who wants to see you” her mother knocked on her door.

And that was the moment, that was it. I saw Mansi, and the first thing that crossed my mind was, “Joseph was not wrong, she is indeed, Incredible”

At that moment I just took it as nothing but a friendly feel of appreciation I had for her, I didn’t think of it as an emotion. I didn’t know such emotions existed or even if I did, I kept yelling in my head that it was wrong. It wasn’t.

Mansi was sweet, she welcomed me.

I loved her room. It was nothing too aesthetic but was kinda rustic, ancient feels all around. Very antique.

She asked me what brought me to her.

I Said “I am a friend of Joesph and he really wanted me to meet you. He insisted so because I am only going to be here for a couple of weeks and he wanted me to be with a good company who could help me explore the city. ”

“Oh I’m glad you’re here, we can definitely hang out. I love exploring too, and we can try out new things” Mansi said in an excited manner.

Well, New things, guess I should’ve known about it.

Because, these were indeed very new to me, these, whatever you’re going to read about next.

For the next few days I kept visiting her, my motive was to gather more information about her relationship with Joseph but a part of me just wanted to be with her, explore and seek adventure. I loved Mumbai more than I expected. The city was flamboyant and was a piece of Surrealistic Art. But soon enough, I noticed, this piece of art seemed incomplete without Mansi. She was the masterpiece of every mind’s Art Gallery. Look at her once, you’ll stare twice. Talk to her once, you’ll crave to hear her voice again and again. She was at times, a pure form of guilty pleasure. You can get addicted to people, it is true. You’ll know if you saw Mansi. Dusky skin with Olive eyes, The kohl on her eyes enhanced them the way you could see her wild soul inside. Her skin was almost flawless, except from the few scars on her face. But oh, they aren’t flaws. They tell a story and stories are always beautiful.

I didn’t realize any of it. Any of the emotions I just expressed were nothing but illogical thoughts.

It was until one night, we were smoking on the edge of Marine drive, late at 2 am but the city was still alive as if it was day time. She looked at me with eyes filled with empathy. She seemed so joyful at the moment. She was living it. I could feel.

“You’re so beautiful” she said.

“Thanks” I replied.

” Can we get drunk tonight?” She asked

“Yes sure, here?” I said

“Come over to my place” she said as she took a calm breath.

I agreed, I drove to her place, she didn’t know how to drive. She was homeschooled, she was spoilt and she hardly ever had any friends. She told me, as she grew up, she started exploring more. She told me how much she learned and discovered since she was 16 and how being a bad girl who sneaks out of her house at nights isn’t a bad choice. She never elaborated more on that.

We reached her place. She took me to her Garden. A small pond and a few trees covering the moonlight.

We sat on the swing and had a good time goofing around. We walked upstairs to her room.

This was the moment that left me bewildered and breathless.

Mansi softly pulled me towards her and made me sit on the bed. She started talking to me with her alluring voice.

“Sash, all these years, I’ve only known how much love I wanted, but I was always so confused about what love meant. I realized how love was different for others. I was always drawn towards beautiful women like you. I find you the prettiest of all. You’re such a great friend and I’m so sorry that I bear such feelings for you. I feel for you. It’s love-like. But I feel for you. More for the moments I share with you, it’s within this earth i feel for you and I don’t think it’s any wrong that i feel for you, for you’re so beautiful inside out. ” As she finished her sentence, she laid her soft cherry lips on mine. She was so soft, so gentle. She made me feel like a fragile infant who needed to be adored. Mansi was the one who detached my soul from my yet very confused brain and made me feel differently, separately, without each dominating other for the very first time.

The moon was Scintillating and so were her eyes, dark and with a secretive depth. Her cheekbones never looked this beautiful, never. It was so unusual but since it felt good, I let go of the emotions that confused me and compelled me to think about life and myself in a wrong way.

The night was over, I was slightly drunk that night but yet I could remember every bit of those visuals i crave to see again.

Mansi was asleep, I decided to leave. I felt sorry and sad for some reason but I felt angry too, and I was unable to believe any of it, any of my own emotions.

It was like, I was an Indian parent who was selfish and unapologetic and my emotions were the children who needed to be understood and adored.

I did the biggest mistake ever. I decided to return back. It was already over two weeks in Mumbai for me, time flew with Mansi quicker than the Metro trains in here. I was blessed to know the reality, to know myself, my capabilities of affection and my desires but oh, i still was an ignorant grown woman who couldn’t find herself until,

It was the end of November and I decided to leave Mumbai, I had to give these baskets to Ahmad nana. Ahmad Nana, remember I told you? My nana’s best friend who he adored a lot.

So whilst I packed, several thoughts crossed my mind, some were petty but some left me speechless and curious.

Bisexual’, the word popped in my head again and again. I don’t even know why, but I was defending myself against it as if it were something terrible. I was denying to accept that I had such feelings for the same gender. Almighty knows how much I tried to reassure myself that it was nothing, it was a mistake in the heat of the moment but the other part of me kept opposing, it kept asking “if it was nothing, why was there any heat in the moment?”

I tried to ignore the night that took place that day.

I was packing and her thoughts kept racing in my head

I wanted to see her, touch her again.

I felt so oblivious to my own sexuality but little did I even know about self identifying, I was so small in this world, such a little creature and I know people out there were going through bigger problems and were once fighting wars but I’m pretty sure if sexuality was controversial back then, the war would’ve been twice as long. There wouldn’t be a man in every house, some would have only women, some alone, some wouldn’t have children, lucky for them lesbian and gay couples who wouldn’t lose children in the war. Even if not twice as long then the number of wars fought would be doubled for sure.

Okay so it was the next day, i was ready to leave this beautiful city. A part of me wished never to be back here again but the other part of me knew very surely I would be back again.

The flight was long and I ended up watching all the videos of me and Mansi together. I felt weirdly good, I got butterflies once again. I didn’t know what it was.

After an exhausting flight, I was back home. I felt good when I jumped on my soft bed and when i could smell the winter of Himachal. The pine trees never looked better, so did nana’s garden. The winter species were blooming slow and I couldn’t wait to see them become beautiful flowers one day.

It was time for me to visit Ahmad Nana now, i drove a couple miles and I saw his huge rustic gate. Ahmad Nana had good aesthetics.

He had this garden too, that could leave anyone spiritually astonished. So I picked up all the things that I got for him from the back seat of the car and walked in, there he was sitting on his wheelchair and admiring his flowers with the last bit of vision he acquired. He was still very youthful for a man in his 80s, that’s Ahmad nana for sure and I was always so reluctant to ask him about how he was so youthful but today I will.

He saw me and a smile popped up in his face, his eyes glowed. He called my name and I ran to him as if I’m still that little Sahasmita. He hugged me and ordered one of his garden workers to bring me a chair from his rooftop balcony. He had a very charming attitude and a very childlike personality at the same time, He reminded me so much of my Nana, Ahmad nana never made me feel the absence of my nana but did at times made me remember him.

As I sat down to converse, the first thing that he said was that how much I resemble my nana.

“He was a wonderful man” he said and I agreed.

I asked him about his youth and how he was still so youthful, happy and healthy.

“I know the answer to that, it’s all a positive outlook

You see, Sahasmita, as people grow older they lose people and they see people die, they see a lot of disturbing visuals and even go through some of them at times and this let’s the negativity into them and it starts aging them and making them weak until they start accepting that their life is a burden and the sooner they can exit it, the better” he started off

“People need not let the world age them, life along with the negative side of this world will age you, make you sad, break you and do everything that is not possible for a human as tiny as us to comprehend but, dear, you can always look through it. Just like in a physical war, people acquire themselves Shields and Swords to cease themselves from diminishing by the stronger side of the war, you and all the good hearted humankind can acquire such emotional assets to fight off the negativity.

Just like, I had your Nana.” He ended his words with a tiny drop of tear escaping his eyes and running down his wrinkled cheeks.

He smiled and asked me what else do I want to know.

I asked him about his friendship with my nana.

He started off by rubbing his eyes with a white handkerchief with two beautiful flowers embroidered- a balsam and an aster.

“My friendship with him was unusual but in a way that is considered soothing. He was the joyous one and I was always a little less than him, but we filled each other with intense sense of refreshing energy of life.
We were in highschool when we met first, but never got to know each other until our early 20’s.
It was during the mid 1950’s we had our best days. We were both young and reckless friends. We were a part of a cluster of all the popular men of college, But every part of us knew that we didn’t actually belong there. Where we belonged? It was something much more complex than our thoughts. ”

I was a little startled.
“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, Sahasmita, you’re much knowledgeable now, much more than we ever used to be, maybe you’ll know about it. This world is much more of a beautiful, accepting and celebrated place than it ever used to be back in the days.
I am not ashamed, why shall I be? It was still love and love was an emotion that I birthed, yes I did, we all do. Love created us, Love raised us and love keeps us going. You see?”

I was yet very confused but within all his words I tried to find my own place in it, as if it was right there, calling me towards it and telling me to embrace it and explore it without any fear. Within his words I was yet so lost, my contradictory thoughts were as if a crowd and his words as if the one person among the crowd I was yearning to meet.

He continued with a glowing smile on his face that marked his delight of reminiscing.

” Society didn’t only act like a boundary, it was much more cruel. It introduced me to the beautiful men, your nana and it set us free, it made us grow closer. Society it was, we were two men. Two men, who would’ve stopped us from meeting and why? Isn’t it?
So we met, and we grew closer and a bond got stronger.
The society never stopped us from falling in love but it rather let us fall in love, but you see how cruel it is?
After all of this, it never stopped us from falling in love but it ended us from nurturing that love to a greater one.
A muslim and a jain falling in love and being in love. Sounds already of a disaster and a rebellious sin, doesn’t it? And now, add the fact that they both are of the same gender. Oh lord, a perfect recipe of breaking the unwritten rules of the world.” He chuckles.
“And your nana, was already a little coward boy. He was the happiest, the bravest, but he feared the society. He loved but he feared and each fought the other emotion and apparently fear took over.
We stayed friends but yet so in love, we protected each other, Had the greatest of adventures together.
Travelled the hill stations, Went on rollercoasters. Travelled the world and spent nights goofing around, drinking sodas on the beaches.
But as time and fear overpowered him, He had to go. Our friendship stayed, as alive as it ever was, but he had to go”

I smiled and he knew I was not afraid of his expression.
I smiled and I he knew I would ask this, “were you ever jealous of my nani?”

He laughed and I laughed along him.
“Acceptance is the key! Once you let go of the opportunity, you only keep acceptance of every consequence with yourself”

And as we shared our last words in the conversation, I found myself differently. I only intended to come here to forget Mansi and tear up my thoughts, those thoughts that deserved to be cherished, worshipped and protected. Yes, I was throwing them, but now I wasn’t.

Every part of me desired to return to Mumbai but I knew I cannot, I knew I loved her but she deserved someone like her. Yes we had our times but we weren’t the best for each other. I had to let go off this opportunity, but I wasn’t in regret. I accepted it and I accepted myself. I accepted Reality and I accepted how magical some gardens could be. Some make you fall in love and some make you feel that love deeper and more intensely.

অস্তিত্ব

জীৱন জুৰি যদি ইয়াত ৰৈ হেৰালো,

জীৱনে কি আশা দেখুৱাই?

জীৱনৰ এটি এটি সৰু ভাগৰ

হেৰুৱা অস্তিত্ব কোনে বিচাৰি পাই?

আকৌ এদিন ঘূৰি যায়,

যায় ঘূৰি মোৰ মন

মনে ঘূৰি যায় ইয়াত ৰৈ হেৰালে,

বিচাৰি নাপালে, ৰৈ গল যেন হেই অস্তিত্ব গোপন ।

কত গল হেই হেৰুৱা অস্তিত্ব জীৱনৰ?

আহি গল ৰতিবোৰ, ৰাতি যেন এক দীঘল কাহিনী

আকৌ বিচাৰি থমকিলোঁ,

ৰৈ গল মোৰ মন, চকুত যেন চকুপানী।

হেৰালোঁ সকলো সপোন দিনে দিনে

দিনে দিনে হেৰাল যেন মোৰ দেহ

বিচাৰি বিচাৰি কানসাৰ হেৰালু সকলোৰে পৰা,

অস্তিত্ব বিহীন পালোঁ সেই জীৱনৰ এটি এটি সৰু ভাগবোৰেই।

As he wrote songs, She wrote Stories.

She threw herself on her bed

Her laced bralette wasn’t speaking for her today,

Today, her tongue slipped out words through her head.

The sun seeking out the warm undertones of her soft sand like skin

Protected by love from every dark delusional sin

She felt less naked but more clothed

As he wrote songs that birthed her stories.

She was who she wanted to be, for now she was in a castle

Fortified with truer emotions and love truest of all,

She was a Queen in here, not a Mistress of the King

She was indeed, the only Queen.

She sat on her budour, combing her long dark tresses

She was less naked even with the least amount of dresses

He wrote songs, she wrote stories

Of liberation away from lust and materialistic glories.

She wrote stories of his songs, he sang to her

At times which she remembered to be obscure to good intentions,

In the end, he was there to strip her doleful, unilluminated past off her body and mind

To expose the beauty that thrives in the core,

Where all her delightful, illuminated reflection resides.

She was herself, and a little bit more of him

She was a realist’s imagination, an animal’s shelter

A demon’s destiny and a human’s honesty

All hard to find but once did, then it’s theirs

He found her, It’s his now,

Her perfection in those flaws, in those mistakes.

She was herself, and a little bit more of him

As he wrote songs, she wrote stories

All embracing and empowering her, All guarding and building him.

You’re inviolable.

You cry

You let yourself be sheltered to limitations

You let out yourself, only in outbursts

That too, so mild that it isn’t even there.

You cry because you need to hide yourself.

You hide

Hide from people who aren’t even eligible to be called yours,

Yet you hide, from Every word that departs their mind

Attacks you and shatters you for no reason.

You hide because you’re scared of yourself.

You’re scared

Tormented, you feel like a hostage

You want to break free

Set out and cause an apocalyptic terror to those who hurt you.

You want to be that monster they let you become because you’re changed.

You’re changed

You’re less of a scared wimpy miss

You’re now an incarnation of Empousa

You’re the one they let you become

Their greatest fear, their long lost tragedy, You are Powerful.

You’re powerful

Who are you? So majestically beautiful,

So powerful, so delicate yet so thorny,

A sincere blend of roses and poison ivy.

It’s you at it’s finest. You’re inviolable.

Rebel. I

I couldn’t help but my fingers reached the pen

Starting to pour down the anguish turned tears of dismay

Down on paper I could write

To dear life, “you turned so volatile.”

So volatile, I don’t know where I lost the spark

The spark joined ambitions of hours pigmented with victories marked with red, was lost and gone.

I couldn’t find a way out, I wasn’t lost but a part of me wanted to be,

I couldn’t cry, I wasn’t happy but tears felt like heavy drops of guilt I never possessed in me,

What was I? A rebel, you say.

A rebel who got weak but yet couldn’t admit to it

Oh did I give up? I don’t even know

For questions seem harder than life,

Did life shelter these questions?

Did I shelter myself into these questions,

Leading me to the depth of an abyss so dark and strong?

I wasn’t a rebel for once, I couldn’t think myself of as one,

I wanted to follow now, but did I really, inside?

I felt more like walking away with the rebellions turn a story, a memory.

And stop and walk, sit under a tree for a while.

A while measuring a few decades with silence, solace and less teary eyes of exhaustion.

For once and for all, I wanted to be a monk who had stories to tell,

About wars he fought for which he hardly ever cared.

I wanted to be a monk, with peace blooming in his mind,

I Desired to be destined for modesty of the world to be explored with wiser set of eyes.

Not with eyes of a rebel, who saw no virtue in the world, but yearned to.

I was a rebel, but with flowers in my shirt,

A headscarf to cover my bleeding wounds but yet

With a little white dove.

I was a rebel but yet I questioned life,

Questioned if the direction of my fate was ever right?

The way the questions left my lips, frightened me.

I asked being horrified of the consequences,

By fears of not being able to find the answers.

“How did you turn this volatile,to have made a rebel crave peace in a need so dire?”

“How did you turn this Volatile, to make a rebel read verses so sinless and wise?”

“How did you turn this Volatile to make a man with marks of reverence as scars, want to turn them to baskets of fruits and flowers?”

“And how did you turn this volatile, Oh! dear life,To corrupt my powerful self with the softer, truer, self that I once didn’t desire?”

Ashalata I

It was one red tinted evening in bowbazar.

Ashalata sat alone in a small little corner of her one roomed house which was poorly mended and with lot of ventilation.

Ashalata didn’t go for work today, certainly because her body was not cooperating

Well, this occupation is certainly not easy, apparently and eventually the body breaks down but once again, apparently and eventually they mend it, just like they mend their broken wings and dreams.

“Ashalata” the one who possesses the purest segment of progress, hope.

Ashalata was her name but little did people ever know her by that.

Jalsa, they called her jalsa.

A part of her loved being called jalsa, or at times even as “the jalsa”.

But all she knew, deep within, her identity was of ashalata. Ashalata, just like the name, was driven by hope and was kind and cultured to the core, beautiful and charming and yet so innocently put together.

But jalsa wasn’t any of it, jalsa was embedded with ruby and pearls, jalsa was fierce and an complete of an uncultured lady with no rules and boundaries. Jalsa was driven by the fire of her needs, jalsa was driven by the soul aim of feeding her stomach and her beautiful young framework of skin. She was feisty, she was wrong and unacceptable, unaccepted and unaccepting ever till her youth dies and body breaks.

And here the time was, slowly she was losing control.

Well, it’s a body she was proud of, the body that fed a thousand’s monstrosity through which she fed her stomach and build up a small little home to also feed her loneliness and unaccepted self.

Jalsa wasn’t feeling like Jalsa today. She laid down on the ground, thinking of how life would turn around if she would’ve let herself be Ashalata.

She wondered. She questioned

If she could ever see the big city of “Kalkatta” as Ashalata

If she could ever wear those jamdani sarees, gifted by her clients

If she could ever feel the high of being so low on life that she loses all her worth to the materialistic realities she desired.

For a a second, only a second she wished to return back to the point where Ashalata was not ashalata anymore,

She wished if she would’ve choosen to stay as Ashalata.

But oh was it only for one literal second.

Old and withered jalsa, laughed and whined at the same time

Her youthful mouth with her old body let out a big taunting laugh on herself

While she whined deep inside, trying not to face it.

She knew she came a long way

A long way trying to find a different kind of happiness, ecstasy.

But she questioned once but never again.

She said, she was Jalsa

The Jalsa that never stopped.

But Ashalata’s hope died, just the way Ashalata’s significance did in the fateful year of 1976

In the streets of new kolkata

When she let go of her saree’s Aachal.

Let go of her innocent little dreams

When her dreams were not in her mind anymore, when her dreams shifted place from her mind to her body.

When she ran away to find the not so peaceful solace she lives for now.