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.


One of Those Days…

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.

The weak in me

It’s been days. Or say only a few days. I am too distracted.  I like to think I have my reasons to be so, which is not true. But anyway…

I needed to share this with someone, I thought. And I thought of you… as usual. But the thought went on… and it said… why do I need to share with you when I am weak? Why do we need shoulder to cry on or finger tips to shed tears? No, I don’t say everybody needs eyes to share tears, few of us are really strong, or at the very least portray well to be so. Nor do I say we don’t need faces to share smiles… few of us again… are very amicable. I am just going with the general trend… Or honestly speaking my trend.

When I am happy, when I am successful, when I am on the roof top, I think of you. I swear I do. But not so much. The thrill to show off… the rush of new plans… new dreams take over. I am light, I am fearless, I am adventurous,  I am open, I get caught in the wind… and I get taken away from me. I get taken away from you. When I am weak, when I am in a dark corner of the room, with head in knees, I am free of the winds and thrills and rushes… I am more me… I am more stagnant… I am more closed. I do not let it in… it being anything and everything… I cannot. And then you enter… through the closed doors… and you close the doors more after you… forceful and effortless… and I cannot stop you… I am helpless and weak… and in your arms…

I happened to read this little thing.

“With all my strength of personality, my goodness, my success or impression of these, there comes that little nasty thing… That bout of showcasing, that urge to be known that way, to be validated by others…

…My unadvertised weaknesses, my failures and their internal admission are my only saving grace, my only salvation… Only spots where I feel God has touched me.”

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That right there is me. Taking you for granted for all the smiles and needing your shoulder for all tears…. That is so me. You are most mine… you are the nearest… when I am at my lowest self. You are so mine… in all the small big complaints I have from life. You are so mine… in those little jealousies. In the tears I shed sitting alone on stupid fails I earned… it is only you. In the feel of jealous… in the feel of weak… in the feel of guilt… in the feel of being hit by a bolt…. the feel of being wrong… the feel of being hurt… the feel of desperation… the feel of losing… in the feel of betrayal…in pains unbearable… I see you.

They say all that is good and pure and right is you. May be. But is that it? Are my weaknesses not a part of you? Are my troubles not a part of you… my grudges… my wrongs… are they outside you? Is a part of me… not you? How can it be a part then? How can you be the whole then? And how then that part could bring me nearer to you than all my good… my smiles?

O Dear! All the pure in me is you. I don’t deny. All the righteous honest paths I take are you. I don’t doubt the boundlessness of good that is you. All I want to be ensured for is that no part of me… however painful… how so ever impure… is outside you. No side of me… is on the side opposite to you.  Each of my smiles is you… but so is each tear. If each of right steps is you… then so are the wrong turns I took. If you are the love inside me… my hatred is equally a part of you. You are the giver maker and bearer of all the successes in path… oh you are… but you cannot be untouched by my failures too. You are the firmness in me… you are all the strength… may be… but sure the weak in me… is equally you.