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?

Postcards

Tomorrow,
Tomorrow is Sunday.
Glorious, glorious
Sunny Sunday
(Probably).
I think I shall
Get up in time
To see the sun
(Whatever little there is).
I think I shall
Go find a cafe
On a busy street
And hope my coffee
Is a starburst
Of perfect bitterness;
Tarty pleasure-pain.
I shall pull out
A sheaf of Postcards
And I shall write
Dear----
I have been missing you
Edinburgh is beautiful today.
I wish I could show you
How are things over there?
I'll address one to my
Father- tell him
'I thought of you
at Westminster
I cried at the grave
Of the unknown soldier.'
I thought of you.
One will go to a girl,
Who cares so much
One will go to a boy,
Who makes me cry
One to a girl who,
Keeps my heart
One to a boy,
Unexplainably loved.
One to a woman,
Who taught me myself
One to a boy,
Who makes me laugh
Another to a boy
Who makes me think - too much.
There are dirty dishes
Spread across the kitchen
There is hoovering
That needs be done.
I forgot to take the
Trash out- again.
My room is alight
With chaos- like my life.
Plans to be made-
Stretching to infinity
But I think
Tomorrow,
I shall go out
And write a few,
Postcards.

 

No One Writes About Not Being Home for Diwali

No one writes about not being home for Diwali.

They’ll write songs and stories and poems

So full of pathos

For the tragedy

Of not being home

In festive December.

But November

Keeps getting shortchanged.

November, lonely November

When darkness falls

A little too early-

November could use some cheer.

Some lights, as it were.

Some fireworks, some diyas,

Some fairy lights, perhaps?

There’s never too much

Tradition or pomp in Diwali

Back home.

But there are fairy lights

And diya designs to be made

Brightening the house

So the goddess Lakshmi doesn’t miss it

(And I can afford to rip my father off

For the rest of the year).

There is good food, good cheer

And good company

(As good as family gets).

I haven’t burst crackers

Since I turned 13

And turned righteous.

But it was nice to climb the roof

Stand with my sister

Have some coke

And watch the streets

Grow molten

With light and life.

It was good to remember

The joy of an anaar flaring

To the skies

The sparkle of a phooljhadi

Aloo bombs making

Screaming, giggling children

Run back

Charkhis painting the road

There is always

The taste of ash and chemicals

That mingles with fresh oxygen

And means, home.

There is a cowering dog

To be comforted

And laughed at

(Just a bit).

There is my mother

Stuffing me with food

Till I collapse

My father waving around

Boxes of barfis and ladoos

Insisting I have them all

Teasing my mother-

Bargaining with her on how many she’s allowed.

Gossiping about our crazy family

With my sister

Pretending we are the normal ones

(We aren’t).

Perhaps I’d please my daadi

And roll my eyes

And wear something ‘traditional’

Muttering about how stupid it all was

(Secretly, it looked so lovely).

Lights drip down the ivory and onyx

Exterior of my house

And wrap around bushes

(My dad and I were being artistic).

If I sniff hard enough,

There is jasmine in the air

Wet earth

From earlier

When I helped the maali water the garden.

There is so much joy

And exhilaration-

Unabashed laughter

I feed on it

And can’t help but smile

Indulgently

At the children

Yelling themselves

Sore; In the streets

While thinking

I am above these youthful shenanigans

(I am not).

There are gifts to be given

In shiny wrapping paper

And so much to be

Brattily demanded

And boxes of dry fruits

To be opened

And all the kish mish to be stolen.

There is so much

That happens

In just a few hours

That I could never

Run of out words

To describe it.

There is so much to miss

And so much to crave.

So much light, love, happiness.

So much thanks to be given

(Perhaps a quick word to someone up above?)

So much to write about

And yet.

No one writes about not being home

For Diwali.

Memoriam

There are memories

I have concealed

Jealously

In deep hushed forests

Of dark pine trees

Each needle

A jabbing thought of you.

Deep memories

Buried in winter

That came tumbling out

Because a friend

Was owed some honesty.

Could you,

Make me feel a bit or more or too much?

Not today, not again

Always, forever.

I love you still

Madly and sadly

And differently

And samely.

I love you still

But there isn’t any still

In you or in me.

So I love you

Not as much as I should

Far less than I could

But more,

Far more than I thought.

Today

Today I spent

An age

Staring down

Blank, lined paper.

My laptop

Has a folder

Containing snapshots

By a camera lens

That adored

You both.

Today I hate you both-

A little, very much, 

Not at all. 

Today I wish

We weren't so

Screwed up together.

Today I don't want 

To be a living

Mausoleum; Of your 

Fucking love story. 

Today its 4:40 am

And I would like

A little love

A lot of sleep

And perhaps- absolution.

Today it's killing me.

Today I spent 

An age

Staring down

Blank, lined paper.