Gifted.

I mean, you probably have magical powers or something. Or wait, you must be like Vicky in small wonder, the scientifically programmed robot? You programme yourself to listen and then delete everything once you’re done, and that way, make space for the next time. Or oh I know. I’ll tell you. Your memory gets erased every night, so when you wake up the next day you don’t remember a word we’ve spoken the previous day. No? Hey! It’s got to be one of these, right? How on earth otherwise, dear friend, do you manage to listen to me sulk and crib every damn time and still like calling me your friend?

I love you dear one for being the way you are. I know I’ve been a pain with my eternal saga of “issues”. I swear, I’ve tried to solve them myself. But nothing seems to work like talking with you at length. The way you make it seem like I’ve just started on my woes when I’m almost two hours through. The way you smile at my biggest problem and laugh at my silly findings. And the way you listen to me with a serious face, like I’m echoing your problems and not mine. And then take me out of the mess, carefully, cleverly, not hurting me even a lil bit. None but you, my friend can do so.

I want to hold tight on to you, so that I never have to leave you. Cos honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if you ever thought of running away. With a friend like me, it’s nothing, but natural. But before you do, please do leave me a note telling me where I can find you. So that I can follow you wherever you go. :D Cos I fear my friend, that I wouldn’t be able to do without you. When you look into my eye, I know it's my mind that you see. And none but you can possibly reach that far.

So my conscience, my friend, my surprise gift from heaven, let me tell you this if I haven’t before, you’re truly special and will always remain so.

Let go.

I let go. Let go off old smiles and put on new ones. Might look fake to you now, but soon you’ll get used to them. For all you know, they might just start looking real after a while. I let go. Let go off the memories that stuck to me like on old spider’s web. It was tough taking them off. One by one. One stickier than the other. But I managed to get them all off. You might see a few here and there, coz they’ve gone deep down into the skin. Finding a place for itself, like a home of its own. So they might remain. But not for too long, for sure. Coz I need to take them off too. I have no space for anything old anymore. I let go. Let go off all that’s old, disturbing and useless. I need them no more. I need to move on. I let go off old butterflies. Let them fly off. They danced in vain. Fluttered, but in pain. I almost killed them. Coz I didn’t need them. But I loved their moves, loved the songs. And so I just let them fly. To find a place where they can stay, where nobody tells them to go away. I let go off the shine in my eyes. I let go off the tears that they held. The dreams that they saw. Don’t call them dead, coz they’re just quiet. They speak no language. They see no dream. But they aren’t dead. I just let go off the life in them. I let go off the lump in my heart. The knot in my throat. I let go off all that’s stopped me from being me. I let go. Let go off the hope that put me to sleep. Hope that never saw the light of the day. Hope that spoke the language I knew. And said everything I ever wanted to hear. I let go. All that wrote a story called me. Or a chapter maybe. I turn the pages, smell a fresh new leaf. I let go the past. The future I see.

The Reason.

All way long you thought there’s a light at the end of that tunnel. You spoke to yourself. Wrote blogs about it. Facebooked it. Gtalked. Told your best girl friend that things are going to be fine with her, when secretly you knew it’s something you need to tell yourself. Everything­­ had an answer, in your mind. But none of them seemed to translate into reality. And the tunnel, just didn’t seem to end.

You coined terms, found the inner meaning and even caught yourself floating in meditation. Every time you cried yourself to sleep, a new answer was revealed. And yet, the pain lurked. More questions arose. And the verdict found you guilty. Guilty of stepping into this mess. Self-respect was greek. And sensibility, latin.

What made you love yourself some day was soon becoming an obligation. A formality, that couldn’t be curbed. If the world wants you to play, you ought to be a sportsman. If your mind’s playing games, you have even better reason. Just do it.

Butterflies may go to sleep, dark corridors may get uncomfortable and the ‘moment’ may last for nothing longer than one. Yesterday becomes a mistake, togetherness a routine and love, nothing more than a slip of the tongue.

With reasons to justify every action, all that you’re left with is an undying feeling of disgust. The truth being, nothing remains worth an explanation. And till the day you find yourself again, you’re left to feel dense, idiotic and unpardonable.

Letter to God.

I tossed and I turned and then, like jack in the box, sprung up to action. It was decided. I had made up my mind. I was going to write a letter. To God.

Sounded weird to me too. But what the heck. If he’s too busy to listen to you or just too confused like Bruce in Bruce almighty, then as well find the next best bet. A letter. Written in my own curvy handwriting, signed by who else but me. He ought not to miss that one, I thought. Think about it. One day, you pass by your rusted old post box and ask yourself, hmm..so lets’ see what’s going on in there after all! You open it and voila! You find a letter. A handwritten, stamped, licked and pasted letter. What do you do? Option A: Say, oh jolly! There’s a letter in there. Shut the box and walk on or Option B: Say, oh jolly! There’s a letter in there. Take it out, eyebrows still raised, mouth still half open, walk to your door, get in, sit down and read it. Eyebrows and mouth still the same. Option 1 if you’re just too cold. Option 2 if you’re normal.

God’s a nice guy. He’s probably a lot more than normal. But he’s really nice. Really. Ya perhaps a little too busy these days listening to the news and shaking his head. Regretting Adam. And then Eve. And then the apple. And all of that. But he’s sure to walk by that letter box some day. And find my letter in there.

So I begin. Dear God. Will fish curry do for lunch? That was amma preparing her menu for the day. And making sure it had what I liked, in it. Moms can be weird, right? Anyways, I reply with a ho-hum and move on to my letter. Dear God, I’m sad and alone. Dad calling. My phone sings and beeps and vibrates altogether and I have no choice but answer.

Ya acha.

Hello molu. Your phone bill’s been pending for a while and so I paid it.

Thanks cha. Bye. Will pay you later.

Dear God, I continue, I’m sad and alone and have nothing in life to look forward to. I hate my life. Are you listening?

Phones should be banned. They just don’t leave you alone. Ugh! This time it’s Juhi. Must be some stupid Sardar joke of hers. I read her message. Babe! Pondi this weekend, the whole gang’s there. You game right?

I chose not to reply. I’m depressed and have work to finish.

Back to the letter. I find myself at loss of words. I’m stuck and I can’t seem to write anymore. But I’m depressed. I’m sad. Alone. I have so much to cry about. So much to complain about. Life’s so unfair. God needs to know that. I close my book, irritated, get on to my bed, and lie there thinking. Not before long, I’m asleep. Amma walks in, finds me sleeping and pulls over a blanket on me.

I guess God’s been talking and I haven’t been listening.

PS: I love you

Don’t take the rains for granted.

Watch her close. Touch a drop.

Smile at her. Blow a kiss.

Just because it rains, it doesn’t always pour.

She sings for you. She does a step.

And when she’s tired, she takes a break.

Never take the rain for granted.

She sends her people before she arrives.

Only so that you can give her your time.

And not just walk with your face turned.

Or lock yourself within your doors.

Go to her. Hug her for a while.

Tell her what she means to you. Only if you really do.

And then when she’s gone, you wouldn’t cry.

Coz you know she’ll be back soon. Some day.

PS: I love you.