It is Spring

It is Spring
I don't want
To go home.

It is Spring
I don't want
To stay in place.

It is Spring
I want
To make mistakes.

It is Spring
I want
To fall off a cliff,

And scream
The fierceness
In my heart
In my love.
To prove
I'm enough.

It is Spring
I don't know
What I want
I know
I just do. 

Make Up and Meditation

I was never a particularly still child. Except when I was reading, I was a little twitchy, a little all over the place and a little lost in my own head (not much has changed).

So, for as long as I remember, I have been told that meditation would really benefit me. To be honest - I make it a few days of guided meditation and then it goes to shit. I get bored real easy and I know that is something meditation and mindfulness is supposed to fix but I don't think I have the patience to let it. At least, not yet.

My mental health has not been at the best of places in the last few years. To put it simply, I am not as happy and as self-reliant as I used to be. This to a part, I feel has been pathologized by the people around me. Yes, I am not always very happy and yes I need to be healthier in a number of ways but I don't think I quite on the brink of anything terrible just yet. However, I have learned (obvious though it may seem) that you don't need to wait to be on the brink of disaster before you do something about being happier.

So I am learning to be more mindful of my moods, my feelings and my days. This does not come easily to me. I love to talk and I especially love talking about myself but I am not a very introspective person. I do think a lot of my troubles do stem from a subconscious refusal to look at myself clearly.

This is where my 3 shade days come in. I have spent months and years rolling out of bed at the last possible minute, putting jeans and a sweatshirt, brushing my hair quickly and running out the door. So on the days I look somewhat put together and actually put on some makeup - those are the good days. I woke up early, I wasn't rushed, I had time, I had space, I could breathe. And on the rare days, where I pull out my Naked palette and use not one, not two, but 3 shades (experimentally and like an absolute novice), you know that day is going to be good. Or at least, it started real good.

Doing my makeup is kind of like meditation for me. It forces me to stop and breathe and actually take a minute and only do one thing at a time. I have to stand in front of the mirror and just look at myself. I can't watch TV, I can't talk to someone. It's just me and my face and my hands and the mirror. It's more mindful than you would think.

It also forces me to look - really look - at my face. I live in so many parallel worlds in my head ( I always have, always will: Maladaptive Daydreaming) that being forced to look at the reality of my physical existence - it's very centering. It forces me to look and see what actually exists, what actually is. It doesn't usually come with self-loathing. I look at my face, with all the flaws and strengths and I just have accept it and accentuate it as much as I am able.

Doing my make up is a reality check. Mirrors are important. I realize I live my life as a series of what ought to bes. In some ways, that is grand. I believe it makes me a very aspirational person. But it also leaves a huge gap between what is and what ought to be and a lot of my sadness and anger and rage emerge from that difference. People ought to be kind because I am kind. I ought to look better. I ought to study more. As a former IR student, I cannot resist in making the comparison - I am very a normative person, always obsessing with what ought to be - both in myself and how people around me treat me. Doing my make up, it forces me to be more empirical. I have to work with what is there, not what should be.

Sometimes, I am not happy with what is there. That is alright. But I need to know what is there before I can figure how to change it. I don't how to change a lot of things in my life right now. In parts, I am lonely, broke, anxious, unemployed and unfit. I want to be none of those things. But I am recognizing some of those things are symptomatic of my age and my place in the world. So makeup does help me realize what really is. I already know what ought to be. If could build a bridge of 'how' between the two and traverse it - I think I could be happy then.

For the moment, this is where I am. This just is. Today was not a 3 shade day, but today was a red lipstick day. It's tiny bridge from what was (unbrushed hair and a guilty lie in) to what ought to have been (decent outfit, eyeliner and lovely red lips). It's a bridge. I'll learn to build others.

Till I do, I look forward to my 3 shade days.

I hope you do too.

Wine Sodden - NaPoWriMo2017 #1

Day 1 : National Poetry Writing Month 2017

'Wine Sodden'

At 23, 

Hangovers

Taste like regret. 

And less like 

Trophies at 18

I'm too young 

To feel this old 

But this is

Who we are, 

Millennials. 

Too young 

To feel the hopelessness

Of a broken world

Too old

To not know better. 

Is that why

We are drowning 

In wine drenched

Realities? 

Conquering Sleep

I don’t know if insomnia comes naturally to me or if I artificially constructed it in a bid to get more time to just do things. Pointless, useless but absolutely vital to my mental health kind of things. I do know that it was so long ago – almost a decade – that I can’t really remember anymore. What I am left with is this – a large amount of information on mostly irrelevant things, a deeply intimate knowledge of every single hour the clock chimes after midnight and what looks like chronic sleep deprivation. I always used to pride myself on my ability to get by on 4 or less hours of sleep, night after night with perhaps a couple of nights every 10 days where I crash for 10 hours straight. Yes, I can get by. I don’t know if it is sheer dint of will or it’s the same thing that makes me sit, writing out essays, studying for exams at the very last minute when most people would be succumbing to a panic attack due to the absolute bleakness of prospects. Whatever this thing is – this ability to work under pressure, to put my mind under considerable strain, to just keep going – mentally at least – it used to be an asset. Now, as I get older, the toll it takes is getting harder and harder to ignore. The irritability I can always mask by overcompensating by being cheerful and considerate. The tiredness is combated by coffee and some secret reserve of manic energy. The health issues are not immediately visible and I am human enough to ignore them. And if it all gets a bit too much, I sleep for 8 hours for a couple of nights, get rid of the immediate signs of sleep deprivation and go right back to the same old routine. I don’t know why I don’t sleep on time –even when I have all the time in the world. Maybe I don’t like being left alone with nothing but my thoughts before sleep comes. Maybe I am too addicted to mental stimulation – even it is something as simple as reading. Maybe I just want to do too much and there aren’t enough hours in the day. I used to hope that getting to the why might help me figure out how to conquer sleep. Sometimes, when I am at my most brutally honest (and in the privacy of my mind, I always am –isn’t everyone?) I think maybe that it’s just a combination of laziness and an absolute lack of self-discipline. The thing is – here I sit on a train about to head to Delhi for another busy week. I have slept maybe 2 hours. I will not be getting sleep anytime soon. I am tired but I am so used to pushing that down and out of the way that tiredness is now something that flickers at the edge of consciousness, waving feebly. My tiredness is too tired to make itself felt. I think the problem is that I opened a browser page and googled nausea+lack of sleep and ended up on a page that listed the symptoms of lack of sleep. I think it is a serious reality check when I can identify with about 22 of 33 listed symptoms – ranging from fairly regular to semi-regular. I think this is a problem.

I think blurred eyesight and common headaches and sometimes tremors in my hand are a problem. I think nausea and a weakened immune system and just general tiredness is a problem. I think the fact that my physical stamina for exercise – never great to begin with – is completely shot through. I think it’s a problem that I have vivid dreams that merge into lucid dreaming and it’s hard to tell the difference. I think it’s a problem that sometimes I have dreams that I try to wake myself out of and I can feel my body not moving because of course we are put into a paralysis by our minds when we sleep and lucid dreaming and fighting your brain in your sleep isn’t probably good for the normal processes of sleep. I think that sometimes I feel off balance (literally) because my ENT system is probably a bit effed up too is a problem. I think that I keep picking something fresh to be anxious about every few months is a problem. I think it’s a problem that my memory is a bit not great in the last few weeks and I have noticed my speech patterns being not super fluent all the time is a problem. I think that I feel exhausted and emotional and reactionary is a problem. I think that my skin is a bit pasty underneath the brownness of itself is a problem. I think it’s a problem that my blood sugar and cholesterol and blood pressure all veer towards the high end of normal. I think its a problem that my eyesight used to be perfect and is definitely getting a bit worse as we go along. I think it’s a problem I am almost scared of sleep sometimes. I think it’s a problem that occasional morbidity is something I am too familiar with now. I think it’s a problem that I can’t seem to find the energy or mental concentration to write long things anymore if they aren’t necessary, like essays. I think it’s a problem that I can’t seem to wake up to one single alarm I think it’s a problem that I am sometimes too tired for simple social interaction on social media. I think it’s a problem that I am too tired to return messages and mails and phone calls and do basic things that I need to keep putting off because I.Am.So.Tired. 

The good news is that these aren't horrifying, can’t be fixed issues. The bad news is that they could become that. The bad news is that they exist at all. The good news is that I can fix it. The bad news is I don’t know if I will. The good news is that I can see my flaws. The bad news is that I am not sure I won’t let them be till I keep on self-destructing in this most delicate and invisible of ways.

So why did I write all this down? Because I am a rational, very organized brain for all the chaos I create around me. Because if you have an enemy, even if (excuse my dramatics) the enemy is yourself, you need a battle plan. This is mine. This is a written, visceral reminder to myself about what lack of sleep is doing to me. Little by little. Every day. It’s encroaching on life. And there is nothing more I value than myself. Alive and well, preferably. So this is my battle plan. This is my blueprint of military strategies. This is my map of my strengths and weaknesses. And I am making this all public because, every military general needs accountability and second opinions and support and help in battle planning. This is how I conquer sleep. Thank you for your time.

Furiously in Love

I have been
Too long
Too furiously
In love.
I know all
Too intimately
About the
Intricate furies
Of throats
Rubbed raw
From screaming
Furious love.
I know
Too well
The shatters
Of crockery
Flung every which where,
With furious love.
I know all about
Picking up the shards
And thrusting them
In vulnerabilities
With furious love.
I have been party
To a furious love affair
For one and twenty years
With a compelling woman.
I called her mother
And said
'I hate you, I hate you,
I hate you.
But I love you more.
I miss who you were
And I'll miss you are
But always,
Constantly
I have furiously loved you.'
So the fire of love
Isn't a novelty
To me anymore.
The complexity
Of twinned emotions
Is my inheritance
From this love affair.
So when I fall
In 'love'.
The falling
On your knees
Kind of love,
I hope
It happens
Gently, softly, quietly.
I hope
I fall in love,
Absentmindedly.
Like we were
Looking the other way
And love crept up
On us,
Like winter.
I hope for love
Like a quiet meditation.
A barely there
Almost invisible,
At the periphery,
Quiet love.
Because I have been
Too long
Too furiously
 Been in love
And you can
Only love like that
Once.
Thank God.
 

I am Looking for a Girl

I am looking for a girl

On a train.

There isn’t anything special about her

There isn’t anything I can tell you about her

Except that

Well,

She smiles an awful lot.

She should be on this train.

She should be sitting on the window seat

And staring at fields of glimmering darkness

And she should be smiling

An awful lot.

I know her very well

You could say,

We grew up together.

I know her of old.

I am looking for a girl

On a train.

She could be sitting at the doors

She could have smiled them open

She could be sitting at open doors

And feeling the heavy wet wind on her face

She could be smiling at the glimmering darkness

And thinking about jumping out

To see if she could fly

I am looking for a girl

On a train.

She’ll be listening to music

Turned up all the way

And she might ignore you

Smiling all the while.

She’ll care less than I do

But will love more than I can

She’ll laugh less than I do

But will dance more than I can

She’ll have seen less than me

But will fly further than I can

She’ll have done less than me

But will do more than I can

And you’ll know her from me

Because she smiles more than me

An awful lot more.

I am looking for a girl

On a train.  

Cliche

Cliches are so,
For a reason .
And really, babe
When the light
Catches you right
You shine
Are sublime
Like a,
What shall we call it?
Like a,
Supernova.
So that's a cliche
Yes or no?
Castle tops
Are cliches too.
Let's do it anyway
Or maybe
Because of it
Rain is cliche
But this was
A mere drizzle.
Tree list
A bit much
To the left
Lean up
Against them,
Just so.
That's cliche
Too.
But it's
The kind
I'm awfully
Partial too.
Cliches come
Riding down
In hordes
And one cliche
That's all about
How we crash and burn.
Let's shred that one
To tiny bits
And kiss
On the remains.
In a very
Cliched
Sort of a way.

Winter Edges

This winter
Has been a rather
Drugged affair,
Honey slow
Molasses thick
And snagging edges,
Catching and cutting.
This winter
I learnt
To flick Kohl
To create wing tips
Honed to razor edges.
This winter
I learnt
About the armories 
Of sharp eyebrows
And the defiant shield
Of jutting Kohl.
This winter
I broke myself
But left my heart in tact.
This winter
I picked up pieces
Of a girl
With hairline cracks
 She denied
All her life
And I broke her
To prove a point.
Then I remade her
With the perenniality
Of sardonic smiles
And perfect Kohl flicks
And recklessness.
This winter
I learnt
To love the winter
In more than just
A blurry, watercoloured way
I loved the winter
In harshness, bitterness
And cruel ice edges.
This winter,
I said, 'Devil may fucking care'
And I meant it.  

Acts of Creation

At first,
There was nothing.
And then came,
Light.
Not unlike
A blank page
Bruised by ink.
We all build worlds
But we all don't live them.
We are too
Authored into being
By the big Author
In the sky.
The one, the only
The Supreme.
This is a whirling dervish
Of existence
And doubts trail
Lives, worlds, universes.
I recreate images
Of the Author.
The one, the only.
I create,
Therefore, I am.
So I am become
An author
With a small 'a'.
Of a small universe
Worshiped, Loved, Adored.
Saved?
Authors need saving too.
Careful preservation
Between the wrinkles
Of a crumbling multiverse
The Author,
Imagined us out of comets
And starshine
So I am exploding
At the pull
Of a blackhole.
I am authoring
Safety valves
To catch my pieces.
Wait a while
To witness the final act.
In the end
(The Beginning?)

It comes down to
Creation
Salvation
Shanti.

Running Away

So here is how we do it. Don’t ask questions, don’t say a word. Just listen to me. You are so good at that. You are the best at that.
This is what we do. We take my car. It isn’t a fancy car. It’s a tiny little turtle, in danger of being upended by a strong gust of wind. But its mine and by that extension, it is yours. So we’ll take our car. Throw our backpacks in the backseat, gun the sweet little engine, hook up the iPod to the aux and take off.

Let’s drive off. Remember, we agreed on the no cell phones rule. Once we get where we are going, we won’t be able to use them anyway. That sounds downright wonderful, doesn’t it? Let’s swallow up miles and roads and worlds and be born again. Let’s start climbing. I am not quite comfortable with mountain driving, but we’ll figure it out together. Fuck this car, WHY IS IT REVERSING, SHIT SHIT SHIT.

Phew. All good now. That was fun, wasn’t it? It was, I can see it in the sardonic roll of your eyes. I could read epics in the sardonic roll of your eyes. I have about 10 seconds before you break and we both are laughing hysterically because we survived that insanity and we have survived so much insanity and sure we weren’t born into rampant poverty and insane odds, but we were born into our brand of struggles and we survived it all and damn this sentence is long.

It smells better up here. It smells like home. I have never loved anything like I love the mountain pines. And unlike everyone else, you’ll let me roll down the car window and you might complain about the cold, but you’ll let me do it because you always let me do stupid stuff because you know the exact limits of me. Gosh darn, we had forgotten what the stars look like so far up, hadn’t we. They are shiny and clear and so, so, so pretty. We park the car at a side and get out and lean back on it and stare and stare and no one can tell us we shouldn’t. Finally some benefits to this ‘grown up’ thing. I was beginning to think there weren’t any. You smile at me and I know you are going to make some asinine yet insightful comment about love. I babble something and drown you out. I don’t want to hear about love. It is what it is, what is the point of talking about love? You let me drown you out, but your eyes are knowing and I can’t face the love they give over. We both are running away. I want us to run away. If I had my way, I would never stop running. Never ever.

But you won’t let me. You allow me insanity, stupidity, arrogance, cruelty and so much more. But you don’t allow me cowardice. So fine. Let’s run away for a little bit. The world below, the insignificant world below us with all those insignificant people doesn’t mean a thing, since you are here with me. But I suppose I will feel differently when we drop down again. Man, don’t you hate the crashes after a particularly good high? No, I am not smoking up, you idiot, why would I smoke up here of all the places? Let’s not think about the crash just yet. I am good at denial, let me teach you.

Let’s us talk about all the things we are not talking about. You love him, I know you do. I know he loves you. But sometimes that isn’t enough. And things get messed up. We are so young, so very young – how on earth do things get so messed up? As for me, you know all about me. I am a wanderer and an only child and I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone but you. Well, I suppose I have and I will, but I don’t think anyone will love me you like you do. I am scared, god damn it. I have never met anyone as deserving of my love as you and that is probably all kinds of unhealthy, but who cares about healthy. I am fucked over in the health lottery either way.

Happy now? We talked about love and we talked about how I run away from myself and how I am so good at it. And this time, I am taking you with me. Because you far too good for this world and I won’t say you are far too good for me but I will say you could have done better on the best friend lottery. So the least I can do is take you with me when I run away.

I wonder when we’ll hit high enough to make it snow? Remember the last time we saw snow together? It was glorious and the snow was better because it made you so happy. I have liked the snow more than ever since then. This could be a typical besties on the road movie. We certainly have the right playlist for it. So let’s sing (more like scream) till there is no air left to scream anymore and we have shattered the total peace of this landscape. There are mountains on every side and a long road ahead of us and we are running away.

It’s good to be alive, Chauhan and it is good to be alive with you. Look at the stars, look at the mountains. Look at the road. I have heard it goes ever on. You coming?