To share the secrets closest to heart, or the ones that render most pain, one chooses a stranger. I was pretty young when I first read this. Took many years for me process. It was a whole new world of no best friends and no confidants when I did. A whole new world where strangers are who you choose to open up when you can’t share it with a best friend.
I was a stranger. I did not know a thing about you. And you did not know a thing about me. You had no responsibility towards me. To make me feel good. To rescue me from getting hurt. To care about what I do when I am not listening to you. You had no concerns. No concerns for my thoughts and emotions and validations and anything that might make you know me. Or make me know you. You were free. You were at ease. The most you could be, when you were with me. You could open your heart without fearing to break mine. For it did not matter to me – at least in your eyes. And it did not matter to you – more importantly. You could speak. As much. As long. As anything.
And then I spoke up. One day. No matter how much I regret to have spoken up. Truth is I did speak up one day. Making you know me. Making you care. Dragging me mercilessly out of the pool of strangers and putting me into acquaintances, friends, ah confidants. I was happy. Foolishly happy. It was a part of your world I hadn’t seen before. It was like a dream but awake. Oh I was so happy. Till I realized. Now you care. Till I realized, now I am a friend and confidant in a world of no friends and no confidants. Till I realized. I am no more the stranger you chose to open your heart to.
Life is slow. Sometimes. Sometimes it’s still. Sometimes you look back and see so much of it has passed in a split second. When you walk by the road, when you see the gulmohar leaves and yellow light peeking through them. On the traffic lights, or in the arms of three balcony walls, when it’s all so damn still, life passes by. Did you see it just passed by. Did you see the passing by light… did you hear the hush of speed. did you hear the bubbles of turbulence.
Did you hear the calm. did you hear the hum of stagnant. Can you hear that…?
Life skips a beat sometimes. Sometimes it collects an extra one. Steals a moment, selfishly. That moment… the ‘not destined for you’ one. It steals beauty where is finds. It steals love sometimes. Sometimes it gives it all away so generously. Sometimes giving is not generous. It’s selfish. It’s needed sometimes. Craved for. Like a heartbeat. My heartbeat. The only connection to the wild stretch of space.
The only hold… only grip of life. Loosening. Draining. Dizzy. Drowsy. Dampened. My life. My heart…
Life waits sometimes. sometimes it rushes off. It opens itself sometimes. It moves. It travels. A dull but constant journey. You can’t even see when it leaves you behind. like sands between the fingers… it runs off… off the fingers. Off the limits. and other times, it waits. For something. It closes itself to open some time. It holds itself hard and it waits. Keeps waiting. Still. Numb. With a thin wire like breathe.
It’s waiting. It’s still waiting there for you to open…
For they never stop being.
No matter how much you promise yourself
Never to write that title again.
No matter how far you run away.
For they are days beyond you
And you can’t plan them you can only watch
You can love or hate them.
You can cry too only they won’t listen.
For they weren’t there for you
They were just there alongside and they will be
Once in a while to fade back again
In dejavus without your permission.
Few things fade pretty easy. Few die hard. Few never do. I do not know what category what falls in. I do not know what category this would fall in.
I once read somewhere, that everything that happens with you, every single event of your life, does a trade with you. A trade of you with a trade of itself. Everything that happens good or bad or plain neutral, gives you a part of it and takes away a part of you. A small part, a small corner, may be a corner of your diary or the pillow by your side… may be a corner of you smile or your heart. And when you have gone far away… forgetting the stories… forgetting the traces even… when you have learned to laugh it off… the part, the corner gone does not come back… neither the trace left with you goes away. It does not die… it lives there… inside the event… inside the moment… in the coffee lounge… on the street… in side you or inside the other person… somewhere… as if it was always there… like a habit… comfortable and home.
Going away is not brutal, leaving behind or being left behind is not… I don’t find departing brutal as long as you don’t destroy the part of me in you… as long as you don’t ask me to give you back what I have of you. As long as you let the trade fade in past… slowly disappearing but never vanishing completely… for it cannot. I will be hurt when and only when you ask me to undo the trade. When you tear off the roots… When you ask me to pluck out the moments of your existence off my existence…
… So don’t! Please don’t.
Let me believe in it… I won’t question it’s being truth or a lie… let me hear the memories… in the hush of every night… let me dream of you… let me feel you smiling in my smiles… let me feel you talking… let me find you in me… in each of my sigh!!