Friday, 17 June 2016

Misty Madame

It's been a month since you died,
But I still haven't said goodbye.
Not a day passes by,
When I don't expect you to walk to my side,
And meow with all your might,
Expecting me to get up in the middle of the night.

I can still see you when I come home,
Waiting at the door to make me feel less alone. 
Even now, I feel your tiny paws,
Walking all over me, reminding me of what true love was.
I miss picking you up Simba style,
You would wonder at my madness and think me an imbecile,
But eventually we would reconcile.
I loved the way your fur felt beneath my fingertips,
And the way it would smell when I buried my face in it.
The tinker of your tiny little bell,
Ringing while you hid and gave us hell.  
I miss kissing your small wet nose,
And then the way your eyes would close.
I remember the way your soft paws felt on my cheek,
You adorable multi-coloured freak.

No more hanging on to my jeans,
Begging me not to leave.
You won’t be there when I go to bed,
Curled up, content, sleeping on my leg.
You’re not here anymore,
For me to hold tight and mourn.
Your absence is so palpable,
It makes me wish it was all reversible.
With a pirate eye and a bald patch,
We were the world's best match.
Eating, sleeping and reading won’t be the same,
Without you Misty Madame.

Thank you for choosing me.
Thank you for letting me love you.
Thank you for all that you taught me.

You will never be forgotten.

Tuesday, 22 December 2015

The Painting

But I will always remember,
The smell of paint on your fingers,
And the canvas in your eyes,
As you painted my soul,
And stripped me of my disguise.

But not all that is art is beautiful.
With every stroke and every line,
My essence ceased to look divine.
I watched you be puzzled,
And then terrified.
For only when you understand,
Can you truly see.

But you continued to create,
As I waited with bated breath,
To see your idea of me.
However, it was not to be.
The scrutiny became tiresome,
And I itched to shift,
I yearned for reprieve.
So I moved and I changed,
Your painting, however, didn't.

But then you put your brush down,
And walked away dejected.
I saw your creation,
Left incomplete and desolate.
I watched it on my wall,
Pondered the significance of it all.
Hoping you would come back,
To finish what was left of me,
To finish what you had failed to see.

But as time passed by,
The painting remained unaltered, untouched, unmoved.
Until one day I realised,
The canvas was mine, soul and body.
I was free to paint,
Had the liberty to imagine,
Every single version of myself ,
I loved and hated,
Respected and feared.
To paint the parts only I was privy to,
The good, the bad,
The happy, the sad,
The beautiful, the ugly,
The bright and the dark,
The straight and the twisted,
The past, the present and the wishful future.
The canvas could be my emblem,
Of honesty and acceptance.
It was mine, it was me.

And so I walked out the door,
To finish what he,
Could never understand.
And he,
Could never create.

Sunday, 23 August 2015

Wandering Souls

As of today,
Right now in the midst of days,
I wish to disappear without a trace,
To not be found and not be chased.

I wish to become naught,
But a wandering soul.
One which lingers in and around,
People's most precious hours.

I wish to feel their joy and excitement,
Their distrust and disappointment,
The hurt and the sorrow.
But once pierced by it,
I also wish to disconnect and float away.

For how enchanting an experience it would be,
To be aware and lucid,
To be deprived and fulfilled,
All together, at the same time.

The essence of my soul would wander,
Uninhibited and unrestrained.
It would fly across the galaxies,
Collide with a thousand others, unbound and free.

The sadness that filled me would be gone.
The peace and calm that I sought, mine.
I would not have much,
But the group of wandering souls,
That would always accompany me. 

Tuesday, 11 August 2015

Breathe out

Take a pause,
Take a minute,
Take a second even.
Close your eyes,
And breathe it all in.
Think of all the beautiful things in your life.

Too dark to see?
Find one joyful thought,
One patronus worthy memory.
Replay it in your mind again and again,
Till you feel how you felt that time.
Let that smile blossom on your face,
Be aware of the rush of blood to your cheeks,
The warmth flowing in your veins,
Allow the arms of joy to embrace you once again.

Now breathe the rest out,
Let out that feeling of wretchedness and despair,
Let the winds carry it with them,
Onto to the next scene of tragedy.

Take a day,
Take a month,
Take a second only.
Close your eyes,
Breathe in,
And think of the people you love.

Remember the ways you made them laugh,
Remember the way they made you feel.
Think of those who might need you,
Who wouldn't want to live without you.

Now imagine them being gone,
Imagine the emptiness you would feel,
And let this imaginary pain rip you apart.
Feel this pain and sense of loss.
Remember this pain and sense of loss,
For you will be the one causing it,
If you give yourself away.

So breathe out,
Open your eyes,
Look into the cold glass reflection.
Put that mode of self destruction down,
Walk away from the smashed mirror.
Go fall into the arms of someone,
Who wouldn't want to live without you.

Sunday, 9 August 2015

Four Years

Mid-way through our more than usual giggle fit, she abruptly stopped, looked up at the ceiling and said, "My tickets are booked. I leave in two weeks."

The room went eerily quiet as we let the news of her leaving, sink in. It felt as if the walls of the room we shared, were also quivering with fear of abandonment, of being left behind once again. Now the sound of our laughter was nothing more than an echo, resonating the inevitable lack of it. We lay next to each other in silence, struggling to find the right words, knowing it was a useless endeavour. No words could soothe this feeling of dread, of not knowing what the future held.

I rolled up next to her and held her. For a brief moment, it seemed as if my gesture was not to be returned. But then her small, soft arms slowly cradled me and warmed my bones. We held each other tightly, as if we were trying to prevent pieces of us from falling off, trying to prevent us from falling apart. Just like we had for the past four years. 

Tuesday, 12 May 2015

Floating Lights

There's a light inside of me,
Which lights up the path to my goals.
It shows me who I need to be,
To reach them and fulfill my roles.

It goes where I go,
It's my guiding light and my hope.
It makes me good and true,
So if it wanders around you,
Know that you are too.

When my belief in the world falters, 
It tells me stories from souls around the world,
And my opinion is once again altered.
Everything it tells me is all I know,
And that is how I learn and how I grow.

When from my path I have strayed,
It does not sound the alarm,
Just tells me to carry on and not be afraid.
For only when you get lost,
Will you remember the right way.

When my heart is breaking slowly,
My light fills the gaps and comforts me.
When my heart has healed sufficiently,
It leaves between the unstitched seams,
Left behind for me to breathe through.

When life gets boring and monotonous,
The once stable light,
Jumps around 'cause it's time to move on.
Time to find things that might break your heart,
Because they will make you feel a love that might tear you apart.
But maybe that's the best part?

This light inside of me,
Is my companion and my soul.
It teaches me of karma and peace,
Tells me to be patient and bold.

The world is dark and filled with sadness,

But all it needs are our lights and kindness.

Monday, 11 May 2015

Mother's Day

Preeti Rao Lali. Many people claim to know her and her story, but most of you really don’t. One day, I will wrote a book about her and her journey, because it’s a tale worth telling people about. But today, I’m going to shine some light on one of the many faces of the uncut diamond that she is.

I don’t think most people know what an amazing mother Preeti Lali is. Other than those who are close to me and her, no one gets to hear all the antics she and I get up to or the amount of bullshit we take from each other.

Relationships may come and go, but for everyone, their relationship with one’s mother is a never ending journey. And I am not talking only about the unconditional love that parents are capable of. I am talking about the relationship between two growing individuals who happen to be bound by the sacred bond of unconditional love.

She and I had a rough start, I basically hated her, well as much as any 6 year old can hate his/her mother. She was, for all intents and purposes, a single mother raising a 5 year old pathological liar in a foreign country, couldn't really blame her for being hard on me. Oh but I did blame her, for a long time. It was when I turned 13 and started showing signs of being emotionally closed off and non-communicating, that my mother decided to really sit up and change our relationship. And within the year, our relationship had gone from mother-daughter daily tantrums, to being each other’s closest confidants. 

My mother takes the parenting style of ‘learning from her mistakes’ very seriously. That’s why, at an early age, she told me about all of her biggest mistakes. If I was not already mature by the age of 13 that sure did the trick. It may not have prevented me from making almost the exact same mistakes, but it gave me the comfort of knowing that the woman I idolized today, had gone through something similar and that made her approachable. Because contrary to most teenage beliefs, I knew she meant it when she said ‘I understand.’

At the age of 51, my mother is the most modern and forward thinking mother I have met till date. She is liberal, vocal and unbiased. She talks about things that were tabooed in her time, such as alcohol, smoking, drugs, sex, homosexuality or colour and gender discrimination. She and I have extremely honest and open discussions about these topics and our personal experiences related to them. And at the end of them, we have this weird sensation because we realize that according to the norm, the things we have shared with each other, are highly inappropriate, given the nature of our relationship that is. I have yet to come across a mother-daughter relationship as honest as ours. 

My mom, my amma, is my best friend. She is my task manager and my trouble-shooter. She knows something is wrong the minute she hears my voice over the phone and she will always want to talk about it endlessly. I am thankful for our relationship no matter how inappropriate some people might deem it. I am glad that the minute I have career or relationship problems, I can come to you with them. I am even happier that I can do the same for you, because that is the unique thing about you and me, I am your best friend too.

We fight, say nasty things to each other which are horribly effective because we know one another’s weak spots, but then with each fight, we grow and understand each other better. We have helped one another grow more than we realize. And with each passing day, our relationship dynamics change ever so slightly, but never for the worse. I have watched you become the beautiful human being you are today, and I watch you better yourself every single day. The strength and determination you have shown in your life is commendable, and I can only hope that when people say, “You’re so much like your mom.” that they’re right.

Happy Mother’s Day.