It Was My Birthday 2 Days Ago,

Behind every sucessful man there is a woman, but behind every unsuccesful there are two.

the phrase “curiosity killed the cat” is actually not the full phrase it actually is “curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back” so don’t let anyone tell you not to be a curious little baby okay go and be interested in the world uwu

The mirror

Tiny little toes, 10 little fingers and she learns to stand.

With that chubby cheek and the diaper, it was more like a duck racing around.

She starts running because, she might fall anytime now, and wants to cover as much as possible.

She turns around and finds this beautiful little kid staring back at her,

Looks up and finds her mother staring at her,

She rushes to hug her mother, but her nose hits the solid screen

The mirror.

She doesn’t realize then, that at one point in life she’ll hate looking into that

The mirror.

High school was supposed to be fun

Crushes and girl gangs were the things shown on those romcoms

She hates those movies now.

While she developed early, her breasts were her biggest enemies

The girls in her class started calling her names, and

She felt guys only liked her for that

Every day she looked into that opaque thing and hated every inch

The extra skin, being fat, and those stretch marks

She hated them all

The Mirror

Being a young lady

She covered every inch she hated with layers and layers of cloths

While her mother told her that she should lose some weight and not eat more

Her grandmother constantly reminded her she would never find someone

Then came the era of being woke

Where you were pretty DESPITE being fat

She looked away from mirrors

The pores on her face, the short hair, and the dry lips

Nothing seemed pretty DESPITE being fat and dark.

The mirror only mouthed what she told

She was never nice to herself

Today, she wakes up, wears the same white shirt that she wears for meetings

Looks up at that mirror and looks into those eyes

Those eyes had known that fair and lovely was not what she seeked

She did not have to feel pretty despite fat and dusky

She was pretty with those curves and dark skin

She wears the khol on her eyes, slides into the shorts

Tucks that strand of hair

And lets out a smile to herself

And to all those years of hatred

She saw those little toes and 10 fingers

And smiled

The mirror.

Image from Razia @a-small-startup

The peaceful Old Lady

There is this temple opposite to the house I stay, I do not know which deity, but I know it’s a Hindu temple. 

Every evening someone comes and cleans the whole temple, lights a lamp and keeps the gates open. I do not know who does that. From that time everyone who passes by pause their walk and take a peep in, some just peep, pray from the outside and leave, while others just ignore the existence. 

But then, there are these people who stop, take a peep, pause, and then decide to go in, they walk in, wash their hands and feet at the tap outside, and then pray. Some leave after the prayer is done, while others sit there for some time, I wonder what they think of, maybe about everything that’s going on in the world or maybe about something that’s happening inside their house. I wonder. 

Today, I decided to take a look inside the temple myself, I am not a devotee, not religious either, I am just curious. I went inside, looked at the statue of the God, roamed around and decided to sit there for a while. I liked the positivity of the place. It was nice, the vibe and the aura the place holds is nice. That’s the only thing I like about places of worship. 

One woman comes in, does the rituals in the right forms, and comes and sits next to me. We exchange a smile and neither of us speak. After a few minutes, she asks me where I am from as she has never seen me in that neighbourhood., I tell her that I am visiting a friend here and that this is not my place. Out of curiosity, I ask her where her house is. She gives a smile, a smile I can never describe, and then says, “I don’t have a house, I stay here until they close this temple and wander off to the next one.” I did not know how to respond and regretted asking her the question.

It then strikes me that I can find her a place to stay, I ask her if I could call some people who can come and fetch her, an old age home, maybe. She thanks for the offer, but then said that there is a peace in the way she lives. I try to convince her rather lure her with all the things she can have, a safe place to sleep, food, shelter, better facilities and everything that comes to my mind. Nothing helps. She thanked me again, and I asked her why, she said there is nothing she has to gain or lose, she has a family who are happy without her, she said she was happily married. No one abandoned her, she chose this, if there wasn’t quarantine she generally helps in one of the big temples.

She told me that she was not a devotee, rather liked doing what she does. She got up to leave, I asked her where she was headed to, she said there was a temple in the street nearby, and felt like going there. I waved goodbye and saw her leave. Her small figure faded as she walked slowly yet with so much peace. 

I hope I meet her again.

It has been 4 days since I met her, and she has not returned, sometimes I wonder if I intruded a bit too much and maybe that’s why she is not returning. Maybe this temple is too small, and she found a better one. Whatever it is, I wait every evening, sipping my coffee, hoping she would return among the peepers and passer-by's I see every day. The peaceful old lady has not yet returned, and I wait…

I'm glad I got to read the script first before the world could..

https://youtu.be/dQsjAbZDx-4

I love this song. So one day I was thinking of the lyrics and saw potential for a short story. Here it goes:

On he went. The snow was hard to distinguish from his hair. The steps were exhausting, each one. But still, it was a special day. He was almost there. Crosses and more crosses. It was hard to find a specific one, since they all looked the same. But it wasn’t his first time. He knew the way.

There it was. The flowers of last year had disappeared. The dog tag was still there. Fernando. What a war freak. He asked for all of it. To be buried with soldiers. To have nothing but a wooden cross. For the tag to hang on it. But not for the visits. That was on him. But how could he not? The whole war, and the fact the he came out alive, he owned it to him. To his bravery. To the hero he was.

“Hello Fernando? Enjoying not going gray, you lucky bastard? Here, I brought you your favorite.”

As he said that, he put down a red label bottle. How many memories. How many times they had fought for the last shot of one of those. Youth well spent.

But there was more. There was the war. And no one, in the whole world, was as proud to have defended freedom as Fernando. He had convinced everyone he could to join. He had fought until his last breath. Still, at the end, he survived. His smile was probably the largest on the night they celebrated the victory. They had to go on with their ordinary lives, but Fernando was forever a soldier. He died speaking about the honor of being a soldier.

Yet, not one person would remember him as a Nazi killer, but as the most inspiring, amusing and friendly figure to ever live. Except for that one soldier friend, visiting his soldier grave, to pay him a friend honor.

“Do you remember that night Fernando? The fireworks, the drinks, the women? How did we enjoy being young, being heroes, even though we would never touch a rifle again. Guess that’s what it’s all about, Fernando. Having the one story to be told on the grave.”

He laughed, far too much for the state of his lungs, until he coughed. Blood.

“Oh, my Fernando. Looks like I’ll be joining you quite soon”

I'm literally shivering of the cold breeze here but it's also making me feel better for some reason from all the ache in my heart and the confusion in my head

The window

If only you could open doors that would change things,

Sometimes like how you think of running far away to those places you never know of

Those meadows and sunsets you have written about, you've read about, you've thought about.

I don't know about you, but I have.

I have wanted to open that window to the perfect home I've imagined.

To that home, where amma and appa had figured out things

Where my older brother wasn't threatened by my birth

Where I wasn't threatened by that hand that made me uncomfortable.

Where my screams would be heard through the window.

Where when I cried, I had a hand to hold on to.

Where I did not run away from, I did not ignore calls, where my memories of childhood were not fights and hatred.

That window which did not show me trying to kill myself

I dream of building that home, where I am safe, I am heard and I am wanted. But now when I do, I feel like I'm caged inside the cocoon that I have build shooing away people. While then it was being in a house that wasn't my home and now a home that feels like a house.

Sometimes, someday I will open that window where I will have a painting hung on the wall of a meadow, a framed picture of people on my bedside table, and my bookshelves across the bed. Someday it will contain a hand that will embrace me and a shoulder to lean on to.

Image from: Razia @a-small-startup

Family is not just mom and dad

It's the one who love you

And I've seen mine in you

I know I'm an idiot

I ruin things that are great in life

And later mourn about it

I realise late that I've damaged

What we had

And this time I guess it's beyond repair

For the first time I wish

I had an undo button for life

Coz' I have never mourned over anything

Like this before

I have had fights with you before

But believed it will all be fine

But I guess I lost you this time

Once and for all...

Big Brother

It’s great to live with a sibling they say.

The fights are just a form of love they say

They said a lot of things

They said that siblings as rebels would one day turn out to be best friends

I miss that kind of a sibling.

I have a brother, not a single child.

They say a sibling tries to pull you out of shit.

He has never known I was in shit.

They say a sibling helps to stay you sober

I am just sobbing being sober

I know this poem sucks

It just that I miss having a brother

And words are not making logic.

It’s just flushing out

My dear brother,

We have had fights, and a lot of hatred. I don’t know why you hated me or why I hated you. I love you and always have, that’s why I have and will always give the world to you. I’m sorry for not calling you, not talking to you. But I miss you, I terribly do. But face it; we have just gone through shit and to deal that I have no remedy. I don’t know how to fix things, but I just want to tell you that I want a brother, the usual caring big brother. Come back to me. Take me back.

What makes you think

You are different from the millions of others living in this planet.?

What makes you feel

That just by not doing what others are doing

You'll be different.?

Whatever it is, you're wrong

You are no different.

The same flesh

The same organs

The same creature

Humans.

Maybe your face is different

Your finger prints are different

The color of your eyes

The length of your hair

Is different.

But that's it

You are the same.

The same flesh

The same bone

The same creature

Humans.

Just because you do or don't do something

Doesn't make you different.

The fact that you feel different

During different situations

Doesn't make you different.

It's the same

The same flesh

The same skin

The same creature

Humans.

I'm angry

I'm depressed

I'm furious

I'm sad

I'm all of this

But, they are just common human emotions.

The same flesh

The same emotions

The same creature

Humans.

And that's the melancholy of being human

It's all the same.

.’.’.’.’.’.’.’.’

I was walking down the foothills of some huge mountain, in a small corner of this world. It was an evening with mist, a slight shiver and a cool breeze… I was walking with some excellent music plugged in, a nice evening of solidarity.

That’s when I saw two really old men sitting next to each other, sharing a cigarette and smiling at each other. At a glance, they seemed like two people who had grown old together, that smile caught a lot of warmth, I couldn’t resist a smile looking at them.

I walked past them, sat on a small rock and lit a cigarette and started smoking, they were still smiling, I couldn’t stop myself from talking to them

‘Hey uncle, are you guys childhood friends?’ I asked.

They looked at each other, then at me and smiled again, I couldn’t quite understand what that smile meant, maybe they did not want to answer, so I continued smoking and looked away.

A few minutes later someone tapped on my shoulder, I looked up and saw those two smiling faces…

‘We just met each other a couple of years ago, and are deeply madly in love’ and they gave out a shy smile followed by the answer. That blush on their face was undefinable. I gave out a smile, they waved at me and told me,

“find that love soon, we waited a bit too long”

I love old couples, because there is this happiness on seeing people having spent their entire life with someone. It sends out hope. I always believed love was in growing old together, and that love was doing everything together. But I had never seen love like that, the love in the eyes of those two, in the smile of those two, it was beyond all the love I had known, it was the love that made me smile throughout my way back.