The Almost Relationship...

I keep getting asked out on dates and I keep declining the invites politely. Then comes the inevitable question - 'why?', 'I thought you were single, are you not?'
I never could give them a straight answer and this stayed constant for a good 2 years. What could I have told them anyway? 'Hey, I m single but not really!'

An 'almost relationship' is the kind where you are attracted to certain qualities about a certain someone, you spend most of your time with him (either talking or texting) and you most certainly want to spend the rest of your life with him. BUT he is not willing to label the relationship. Not that you want him going against his will, but some acknowledgement now and again never hurt.
Someone recently used an 'almost' right label while asking me about this certain guy - 'so..hows your pseudo boyfriend?' I 'almost' laughed out aloud at the absurdity of it but later when it actually sunk in, I realised that that actually was it - he was a pseudo boyfriend and I was in a pseudo relationship.

I have spent a significant amount of time hanging out and sleeping with the same person, yet was never able to be or feel exclusive. My whole aim at that point in time was to not say or do anything that would make him think of me as demanding and eventually scare him off. (to think of it, I had stored his contact on phone as 'scaredy cat' - since I could not even save his name as his name. The given names kept changing every month or so too). WOW! I feel foolish writing about it now.
So, rather than telling him what I felt or desired out of the 'companionship', I kept all the feelings and desires bottled up and kept looking for signs that we were actually heading SOMEwhere. Well, I thought I saw signs now and again but the happiness was always shortlived. It was like he sensed that I was deriving satisfaction out of our 'togetherness' and would end up asking for more, so he would then push me away - he would conjure up reasons to argue over something or the other, make up rules and shove them in my face. Whenever he did that, I would give him his space (sometimes the space was longer than a month - last one was 3 months). I thought if I held out long enough, give him space to recover and feel better, keep my feelings and thoughts in check, be patient enough and put up with his weirdness and remain the 'cool and calm one', he would eventually come around and look at me in a different light. He would see that I was the one who knows him and sticks around through thick and thin. I had him on a pedestal and would not think of him otherwise. I would accept scraps of emotions from him and would shoo off people who would want or wish to give me more and enough. It was a never ending cycle of happiness, disappointment, hurt and pain.

For all you girls out there, if you are going through this, remember to let go of what causes you pain because you are special - and you have a right to be happy. If the guy you care for does not give a damn about your precious feelings, leave him be. Have faith that there will be someone who will unbreak your heart and make it whole again. The one who truly loves you will never leave you shattered or hurt.

Most importantly, love yourself and learn to trust the right people. Having said that, do remember not to generalize men - not every guy you meet would hurt you. I wish you true love <3

Stones taught me to Fly!!

Couldn't help but borrow this line from Damien Rice. Stones did teach me to fly!

I was not born but was raised in Mumbai. My mother apparently brought me back to Mumbai when I was 3 months old. Mumbai is home. There's no other place on earth where I could be more at home. So much so that I could trade anything to stay here!

And this is where it starts...

Not long ago, almost 9 years i guess, in my teens, I was forced to leave this city and go stay with my grandfather in the place I was born. My native place, North India. See, it's a beautiful place, but for a person who had never been there more than twice before (just for a couple of weeks of school vacation, when I was not even a teenager), this was alien. The people, their mentality, transport system, the houses, the culture and traditions, even the cows and dogs. Everything! But I had no option, but to accept what was happening. After all, what was I, just a pathetic little tenth grade teenager.

What followed was a series of events that unfolded, which made me realize how important it is to dream. I fought (not tooth and nail obviously) with customs and culture and tradition and thought processes. I fought with the entire system of Purdah. I fought for my dreams. I fought for my independence (of thoughts!). I fought for me! (The entire episode would be there for you to enjoy, in my book. And when I say enjoy, I don't mean sarcastically. It was not all bloodshed, mind you, but quite entertaining. Hell yes, there was not a single boring day, trust me.)

So.. what eventually happened was a war of words and thoughts. (surprising how it is always about thoughts, with me. At this rate, I should have probably have succumbed to a brain haemorrhage! )

And I won! Yes, I did. I was told that only if I excelled in my academics, would I be allowed to go back to my love, my Mumbai. See, it sounds like a piece of cake. But to a person who disliked 'studying', I topped the Economics exam. I did score poorly in Finance/Accounting, but hey, the rest of those subjects were a breeze.

Mumbai welcomed me back with open arms and I ran into them! And I never turned back!

So, coming back to Damien Rice. Do you know why I like him so much? Yes, 'his voice' is an obvious answer. But I also love what he sings. The words, they melt my heart. Why? Because if ever I sing, the words would be almost the same. My songs would be similar. Of love, hurt, anguish, fear, freedom. The claustrophobia of thoughts and feelings, if you know what I mean. Like you are caged. And your only way out is picking through each and every bar of hope, fear, happiness, jealousy, death and out to your freedom.

I'm back, but not with a bang.

Prologue

11:30 PM (April 23rd).
Seema ran home from the hospital, in the pitch black night, battling the heavy rain and breeze. She was scared, not for her daughter, but about the wheat, that she had kept to dry on her terrace, under the hot April Sun. Yes, it was raining heavily in April, and it was rarely heard of. Usually the crops were half dead by the end of April, all thanks to shortage of water and bad irrigation facilities provided by the state.
She ran, inspite of the nagging pain in her joints. She ran like she never had before.
She reached home, ran up the stairs, two at a time, almost tripped over the cat. Her grains were washed out. That was the last of the stock, in the house. She cried.
She thought, not of her daughter, lying in the hospital, but of how she was going to manage the house with precious grains all washed away. She cursed, not her fate, but her daughter's would be child, all set to be born on this damned day.
12:03 AM (April 24th)
Meanwhile, at the hospital her daughter, Kaneez, gave birth to a tiny little baby girl, dark and skinny. And she was proud of her small bundle of joy. She named her pride, she named her hope. She named her Nazia.

Actually, i've changed my mind. i'm gonna start from the start.

I'm gonna start writing about myself.

The first chapter is titled: That stormy night..