Embers.

Long after the New Year’s get-together got over and friends left, I stood close to the embers of the fire we’d danced around, that final night of the year. As the time went by, the embers cooled down, only occasionally glowing brighter as a gust of wind rekindled life into them.

My past is but an ember, destroyed and discarded remnant of the bygone, refusing to die down. Relationships that were unwillingly brushed aside, calls that were never made, meetings that never materialized, letters that were never sent and regrets of not having done enough. What went by, never really left though. Everything simply deposited itself perpetually and became a part of my existence, a burden that has mellowed me down over the years. I feel overwhelmed and at the same time emptied.

The ache of being left alone, being purged out of someone’s life is not unfamiliar to me. The injury is capable of leaving one irreversibly incapacitated, I am grateful I survived the ordeal. Along the way, it made me more compassionate; I became more and more willing to lend a shoulder to lean upon, a hand to hold onto. And at times when I felt weak, I still let someone hold my hand, for their belief that they had me brought me the courage to persist. I look at myself in the mirror, I stare into my kohl-rimmed eyes and I know how far I have come from the person I used to be.

It seems as if the void that is left behind when one decides to move away diminishes with time, instead it stays with oneself through the days and the nights. It’s like the voice of the conscience which can be repressed but can never be obliterated. I try to compensate the loss, the hollowness, only to realize that every person has left an imprint on my soul which no one else will ever be able to fill in for.

Every day brings with itself new beginnings and myriad possibilities of what tomorrow will be and then in a moment the past stubbornly stands right in front of me. The embers surge to life and the fire engulfs me. The warmth of the memories I could once seek refuge within, now burns me down. Every little tryst with the past leaves me charred.

Strangely, what doesn’t succumb to the past is the unfathomable ocean of love I have in my heart. Even when the fire has consumed the last piece of me, love remains, as vibrant and exuberant as ever. Love conquers all. The rattles of the past drown in the melody of love. I reach out to people I love; I entwine my life with theirs. I live the pain with them, we celebrate the joys together. I get hurt, I forgive too soon. I place myself at the mercy of the ones I love, I feel betrayed. 

Love never dies.

As I walk by the nearly empty lanes of the city at six-fifty in the morning, I see the sky still emerging from the darkness of the night. Will I be ever be able to convince him?

Death Penalty? Yeah, right!

'Finally, Death Penalty for all the Delhi Gang Rape accused!' read the headlines of the news articles as the court pronounced all the four accused guilty and awarded them capital punishment. And the entire nation is rejoicing. After hundreds and thousands of rapes and molestation faced by women, finally rapists were awarded the most severe punishment: hang till death. But I am not happy, obviously because, unlike everybody else, I cannot see anything good about it. How is death worse than, say, a lifetime of imprisonment, somebody please explain. One fine day the death penalty will be executed and within a matter of few minutes the rapists will attain ultimate freedom. The victim was tormented with hours of brutality, was flung out of the bus naked on to the streets of Delhi before she succumbed to her injuries in the intensive care unit of a Singapore Hospital. The victim died, the rapists will too, but what is the difference? The death itself or the presence or absence of suffering while they were alive? 

After the gang rape incident happened in Delhi, mass protests took place in the capital city as well as all throughout the nation demanding the death of the accused, stirring an argument over the current laws pertaining to crime against women and the failure of the system to deliver justice. What baffles me is the relentless attention given to only one facet of the scenario while entirely ignoring the other. Definitely, one way to assure women's safety is stringent laws and an equally effective judiciary system but what about preventing such incidents from happening?

Oh no, I'm not talking in favor of asking the women to refrain from wearing short skirts or going out at nights or anything of that sort. I'm talking about the perception of women the society has as a whole, comprising of both men and women. And even deeply, the origin of this mentality. The stereotype that labels the women as the most vulnerable strata of the society who needs to be obedient towards their superior and stronger counterparts. A woman is supposed to take care of the house, have a little or no social life, and be unquestionably submissive towards the men in her life and should thank destiny even if she ends up with a husband who takes her out every weekend for dinners. What is even more bewildering is that this stereotype is not imposed upon women, it is fueled by women; every time a woman fails to raise her voice against the pettiest of the injustice she is faced with, every time she teaches her daughter to be less egoistic and less authoritative towards the men, every time a woman decides to conveniently gulp down insults on her dignity and chooses to ignore the scars on her self-respect, every time a women lives up to the stereotype!

Some five years back, the residents of my apartment thought girls coming out to play badminton with the boys in the apartment premises was an inappropriate gesture and we, girls, were denied the right to play in the apartment. What disgusted me was the fact that all girls and their mothers reverently accepted the decision and stepped back. Are we not proving ourselves weaker and helpless and placing ourselves at the mercy of the society and the men? And if we are promoting injustice, of course we are if we are not fighting against it, what right do we then have to complain when men take the authority a little too far and start taking decisions for our lives?

Coming back to the death penalty for the rapists and how it is going to question this mentality. Let us all admit that rape is not the only form of injustice that a woman faces. What about the mental trauma that a woman goes through because she is supposed to live up to certain ideas and notions that this society has formed for her? Domestic violence, how many cases are even reported in the police station? What about the freedom and equality she is denied in the family or in the society? Ask any lady what she feels when she's harassed verbally and she'll tell you she's developed a deaf ear to it and is pretty indifferent to such petty ill-treatments. Alright, why should women be then offended when these petty ill-treatments take heinous forms?

What was even more surprising was the outrage on this particular incident in Delhi. This wasn't the first rape case in the city. What made it rarest of the rare case is a fascinating evidence of how the definition of "unacceptable" dynamically changes as we progress ahead. A few decades back rape itself was big deal. A few years back, gang rape became the new unacceptable, obviously as rape became something we read in the newspaper every few days. Gang rape became so common that it was too less to evoke aggression in the hearts of the protesters. So what was so unique about this particular case that made everyone say enough is enough? The fact that she was gang raped not in an abandoned bungalow but in a moving bus on the sprawling streets of the national capital and the rapists went a step ahead and shoved a rod inside her and pulled organs out of her body and after they were done they threw her body onto the streets leaving her to die. Why should even the pettiest of the injustice tolerated, I ask. Why should any rape case be different that the other?

And what is everybody happy about regarding the death penalty? If you think that death penalty is going to deter criminals from committing such crimes in the future, let me tell you it is a fallacy. Things don't go around in such an uncomplicated manner. A person who is in a mental frame to inflict harm onto the other person will never think of the consequences. If it was so, even with the existing punishments in our law, crime rate would have decreased in these many years, would not have grown substantially. What has made the crimes surge in these many years? The absence of law? Definitely not, the laws have become more favorable for women. Then what has contributed to the rise in the crimes against women? Our growing tolerance, or immunity, should I say.

Consider an acid attacker. Let’s say we hang the criminal to death. How is that even going to change the life of the victim where the damaged has penetrated to her soul? If you read such cases of molestation and abuse, you’ll notice that they are done by the criminals to take revenge from the victim. Revenge, because the girl refused to pursue a romantic relationship with him? And men in our society are not taught to accept refusals or rejections. When a woman says no to them, it is so ego-hurting, so offensive to their manliness that they can think of nothing but taking revenge in the most atrocious manner. Don’t we need to stop validating their absurd notions of manliness and alter our perceptions of men and women at large?

If you still want, you can assure yourself thinking that death penalty is going to drastically(or slightly) reduce the crimes in future but I don't see anything like that happening unless we alter our attitude and address the issue at its root, take responsibility and stop being so tolerant and perennially forgiving.

Impuissance.

What do you do when you suddenly find yourself awake in the middle of the night and you simply cannot fall asleep again? When you realize you're pretending to sleep.... only pretending, to sleep.. When resting your head upon the pillow doesn't comfort you anymore.. When you restlessly stay awake and relentlessly wanders your mind.. When you realize your room is but a reflection of your being- as empty and hollow with all the furniture, books and curtains as yourself with a million thoughts, a thousand memories and a few hundred emotions.. 

What do you do when all your worries suddenly threaten and terrorize you? When you realize you can no longer escape the confrontation you've been conveniently avoiding through the day.. When the ugly truths emerge from their hiding and grin at your face.. When you tremble, shiver and no words of assurance seem to make a difference. When you realize how broken and tired you are.. When you find yourself unarmed and unguarded and the warmth of the blanket no more suffices..

What do you do when the eerie silence of the night grows too loud? When you can hear your heart thumping in your mouth.. When the wind hums a depressing tune.. When solitude mysteriously dissolves into loneliness.. When you feel like you're standing in the thickness of the jungle and nobody to look up to but your own self.. When there are hours before the sunlight, yet again, peeps through the fluttering curtains.. When the night refuses to cease.. When you realize you've finally made peace with reality and you no more need to shed tears to believe what's gone won't return..

What do you do when you find yourself helplessly and irrevocably awake in the middle of the night?

Who cares, anyways?

The constant scuffle between what is worthwhile and what isn't tears me apart. The moment I meet a stranger, I somehow know, that he/she will be a stranger all my life. No matter how thrilled I am to pursue the friendship, no matter how promising it appears. I have friends who've been around even before I knew what 'friends' meant. I've been involved in friendships where the extent of intimacy far superseded the boundaries of a mere friendship. I've had friends without whom I couldn't even imagine my life. And yet, the whole idea of friendship is losing its essence. Meeting a new person, meeting an old friend, nothing stirs my soul like it used to. And it isn't even funny anymore!

It feels like I'm trying to balance myself on a dwindling rope where I need to have the right amount of my heart and soul into the friendship to keep it alive and an equal amount of detachment to experience indifference. Does that even make sense? One day I feel I'm inseparably entwined with the lives of my friends and family that I'd collapse without them and yet on the very next day, I exactly know the relationship is heading towards a dead end. I struggle to strike a balance between the two seemingly impossible ideas; sometimes I end up getting too entangled with the friendships and sometimes the detachment just makes things fall apart. 

Do I really value people in my life because I've not got "better" things in life to keep me busy? Do I really have complaints and expectations because I "think too much"? 

I say things now, while I still can, because I've experienced what it is to have suppressed emotions and find your loved one count his last days in the Intensive Care Unit of a hospital. I expect because that is what that takes the friendship forward. I put my heart and soul into every friendship because I believe, just for once, it will all prove worthwhile. I care, sometimes way too much, because I realize the difference it makes. I fight, I argue, I disagree not because I want to walk away, but because I want to stay and stay whole heartedly. And the worst of it all is that no one really understands! People keep staring so hard at the intricacies, the factual details that they completely miss out on the bigger picture!

I'm tired. Of trying to balance. Of trying to make futile efforts. Of trying to fuel the lamp of faith every time the winds of disappointment flickers it down. Of pretending to an extent that I myself don't know what is real and what is artificial. I'm tired. Of constantly holding myself back. Of remembering and then battling to forget. Of failures. 

I sometimes feel like putting everything aside and simply escaping the monotony of things that don't work. I feel like running away from everything and everyone. 

Who cares, anyways? 

Come away with me!

.. let's relive those moments ..

.. let's celebrate the memories ..

.. let's dance to the rhythm of our heartbeat ..

.. let's listen to the faint whispers of the wind .. 

.. let's hold our hands again, a bit firmly this time ..

.. let's admire the sun melting into the ocean .. 

.. let's walk a few miles together, and hum a melody ..

.. let's say those words again, this time like we mean them ..

.. let's look into each other's eyes, this time for a second longer .. 

.. let's express our hearts out, like there's no tomorrow ..

.. let's forget the present, and let the past prevail .. 

.. let's believe, for a while, that we're still together .. 

.. let's relive that fading memory .. 

.. let's fall in love, again ..

Perhaps, forever!

Words that have made me smile..

Words that have calmed the turbulence..

Words that have glittered like stars on a moonless night..

Words that have caressed me while I was sinking deeper into sadness..

Words that have comforted me when I was hurt..

Words that have brimmed my eyes with tears..

Words that have strengthened my hopes while I was falling weak..

Words that have lingered in my heart for longer than I remember..

Words that have bridged distances and fathomed oceans..

Words that still echo in my ears..

Words I could never say..

©Shweta Vora

I soak these words in the dark blue ink of my pen,

 And gently place them over the pale yellow pages. 

Where they lie trapped. 

Perhaps, forever..

Companions, are we?

"I don’t mind when our conversations get a little bit boring
 and we run out of things to say,

Just having you is enough to make me happy!"

The cursor blinks incessantly on the screen as I think of the appropriate words to describe this wonderful Sunday morning. At his aunt’s place in Pune, I sat beside him on the black leather couch in the living room, relishing the instrumental melodies the Bose System poured out. Every piece of furniture glittered with sunlight. He longs to be in Mumbai, the helplessness evident in his words tell me. Mumbai, the city that has been his home all this while. He fondly recalled incidents from his childhood, of how certain houses he’d lived held a special corner in his heart and how some of the cars he owned were more special than others. In a fortnight, his family would shift to his new residence in Chinchwad, Pune.

We first met each other during our train journey to Mumbai. He was returning home with the unforgettable memories of his excursion to Delhi and Dehradun, I was visiting the city to attend a cousin’s wedding ceremony. We exchanged contact numbers as the thought of parting ways dawned upon us. The train had reached its destination, we still had a long way to go. He helped me put my luggage off the train and in a blink of an eye we lost each other in the crowd. Or had we found each other?

At about half past ten, we walked down his apartment and stepped into his car. I went wherever he took me. He drove past the rather empty lanes of Pune while I sat next to him assiduously listening to everything he said, occasionally uttering a word or two. An uncomfortable silence would replace his words when he’d be deeply engrossed in shifting gears and accelerating the car, leaving me with no options but to patiently wait for him to speak again. Sometimes he’d express his disgust as he’d realized the traffic ahead was moving slowly or sometimes he’d simply indulge in describing how he met the girl whose vibrant personality was so enticing that he cannot take her thoughts off his mind.

Before he’d left for Pune he paid me a surprise visit in Mumbai. Barely fifteen minutes of seeing him, but good enough a memory to be cherished. It was the first time we were seeing each other in person after the train journey. Unlike my other friends who’d just find it impossible to find time to see me, he’d come. He’d come all the way to see me.

The only unusual aspect of the Sunday morning was that only he was in Pune and I was in Mumbai. So what if we weren’t present with each other physically? And that the conversation happened over an instant messenger? Instant messengers might be categorized as a virtual social networking platform but the vivid recollection of this glorious morning is no less than a reality. Around a hundred and fifty kilometers of the vast land separates us while the world wide web brings us together. It is hard to believe that we exist in two different cities all together. Every night, we both go for a long walk into the depths of our beings, discovering ourselves; we indulge in intimate conversations. And the emptiness that envelops me constantly, starts melting.

©Shweta Vora

Sometimes, he strains his sleepy eyes staring at the phone’s screen while I talk relentlessly of all the rather trivial things in this world. Sometimes, I bear the brunt of his disappointing day. Sometimes, he makes me laugh uncontrollably. Sometimes, he tells me how the girl he admires made his day simply by forwarding him a quote. Sometimes, he dozes off while I await a response. Sometimes he holds my hand and takes me into his thoughts and shares his experiences. I go wherever he takes me!

Such an efficient waste!

"Do you run through each day on the fly? 

When you ask: How are you? Do you hear a reply? 

When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? 

You'd better slow down. 

Don't dance so fast. Time is short. The music won't last." 

- Anonymous 

While I was nostalgically pondering over the memories of my childhood, of the summers that I spent at my grandparents’ place far away from the confinements of Delhi, the thought struck me. These fond memories always manage to emerge without notice and then even going by the rest of the day seems difficult. Looking back at those days, surprisingly, I cannot recall any of those monotonously and ceaselessly performed routine tasks. Instead, what remains etched into my conscience is completely different. I don't remember if my Uncle’s car was washed and cleaned and if it had those stainless seat covers but I still remember the weekend escapades to the nearby hill station. I don’t remember if my Aunt dyed those grey strands of her hair but I can still feel the warmth of the hug that she’d embrace me with every time I’d visit her. I don’t remember if the backyard had those dried leaves scattered all over but the memories of running round the backyard chasing my brother on a hot summery afternoon is something I am going to cherish for the rest of my life. 

Why do we then wish to waste our lives emphasizing on things that don’t make a difference? Why are we so adamantly trying to pour ourselves into molds when all we need is to break free and follow our intuitions? Why have we coiled ourselves with irrelevant things while we whiz past our lives harboring feelings that are simply meant to flow? Why do we perform our routine jobs so relentlessly and assign such a great deal of significance when they don’t even make way to our memories? Why do we bother so much about folding our clothes in to neat piles when our lives perpetually remain in an utter chaos? Why do we bother so much about fixing up an appropriate place to meet those special people in our lives when all that we are going to remember is the conversation, the way we expressed in words what we feel? What holds us back when we simply want to contain our loved ones in our arms and tell them what they mean to us? Why do we think so much before visiting a friend who’s unwell and not simply drive to see him/her? Why are we virtually only a message/call away and yet emotionally so far apart? Why are we waiting for a terminal illness to remind us of the eventuality and inevitability of our lives, of our encroaching death? What will it take for us to realize that we are born to live not merely exist?

©Shweta Vora

May be we should decide for ourselves what really matters and what is an efficient wastage of time. What we comfortably condone is probably where the true essence of our life lies. For we may not remember if the cushion contrasted the color of the couch's tapestry, but we might never forget sharing a cup of coffee and how the heartfelt emotions were weaved into words..