The Twins

I could never speak in two's before.

But now I can separate the I and the I.

The I who's comfortably numb and

The I who's ardently ambitious. 

The ' I ' and ' I 'are separated by a veil.

A transparent veil as flimsy as the one that separates me from my hallucinations.. 

The ' I ' who is stuck in the arms of yesterday, The ' I ' who missed the train, The ' I ' who's sleeping on cold railway tracks, ears pressed to the rail, awaiting  the rumble. 

The other ' I ' who's ferocious, The ' I ' whose vanity so high that it keeps away all in securities, The ' I ' who's so fearless and faithful. The ' I ' who's pride hurts in every passing hour of monotony. 

Caught in the middle,

I put them both to sleep. 

Tuck them away. 

I watch them sleep peacefully, 

legs entangled, heads touching. 

Right at that I moment  I knew, 

I'd failed. 

How much I ever try how can I separate the ' I ' and the ' I '? 

Redemption

You've broken me over and over, 

Knowing that I don't really  recover.

You made my instincts go cold.

Poking the wounds, that are very old.

You made me doubt my gut. 

God knows how many windows I've shut !

I've built a fortress out of all the guilt, you gift me.

There are nights, my tongue taste's like the salt in the sea. 

The sea, where you won't let me swim or drown.

That's the way you love me.

That's the way you want it to be.

But I can't take no more. 

Even though my throat is sore. 

I will leave you here.

Just to be clear, 

About the one thing I always left unspoken, 

You don't break a person, who's  already broken. 

 

Mirrored Agony

To fall into each other's skies. 

To drizzle and dissolve.

To disappear. 

To love only beginnings.

To seek balance in what's falling. 

To have a soft spot for crash-landings

And things that don't last. 

The middle

The middle is messy. 

You're neither right nor wrong.

And there are no rules.

You battle your instincts, 

Bidding  adieu to the last lessons of logic. 

There you are, heart in hands, 

And a life at stake. 

Caressing the old wounds, 

Hoping this time, you'll be spared. 

Stuttering mid-sentence, 

You discover a whole new lullaby, 

Hidden between the lines. 

It was all there. 

There's no end, no beginning. 

Because, it's the middle and

It's messy.

Venting.

I tried to translate my fears, my angst, my sadness, my insecurities into sentences. 

In vain, the very attempt at it, is a pain in the ass. 

At times, it feels like choking on the noose of thoughts around my throat.

Each breathe, like a trapeze act.

Past few weeks had me lose my shit (I don't talk civil, when I vent).

Two consecutive, unexpected  deaths of closed ones, got me into a delirium ( I don't wanna use the word depression, too cliché and so middle class!)

I had anxiety attacks that brought back my Asthma after 3 years and truck loads of misery. The only thing I could dream or see was the image of my Ammamma (still alive) dying.And believe me, it still tops on the list of my nightmares.I've heard countless lectures on how death is inevitable and blah blah, from cousins, friends and my parents who couldn't bare to see me struggle. Also, every time I tried to open up with a few of my close ones, I back down, because I didn't always wanna be their sad friend, the one with problems. 

So, I kept at it, popping pills, trying to keep my anxiety low, nevermind the tremors and the dizziness. My nights are a restless battle between  spotify playlists, absurd YouTube videos and constantly  checking on my grandmother,  every half an hour. Amma understands because she'd been there too.But it isn't seeming to help, I lay afloat like a corpse, body half drowning and mind strangled in the waters of fear and anxiety.I know,  I make  up these in my mind. But  I'm sorry, 'Don't overthink', 'Thinking too much' , has never done any good.

I got into unnecessary fights with my friends, ghosted many, and cried over steaming pasta  I cook at 3 am. Whatever I'm going through, I know not, what's the end of it.

All I know is, I try, I really try.

But I'm on the losing end. Either I'm annoyingly  social or disturbingly distant.

And to all the people to whom I seem to be a paradox, you have zero chances of being wrong.

പ്രേമലേഖനം / The Love Letter

മുഷിഞ്ഞ കടലാസിലാണെന്റെ പ്രേമലേഖനങ്ങൾ.

വാക്കുകൾക്ക്  പുത്തൻ കുപ്പായമില്ല. 

പരന്ന  കണ്മഷിപ്പോൽ അവ്യക്തമായ അവസാനങ്ങൾ..

ചേർച്ചക്കേടിന്റെ ജാള്യത തെല്ലുംമറയ്ക്കാതെയോരോവരിയും!

 

I've been told, it's  illegible. 

I've been told it's too much to take. 

I try to put the pandemonium 

tormenting my heart, into words. 

And it becomes a colossal  mess. 

The poems I abort. 

The sentences  I gulp down, 

Like those tablets you never chew. 

Because  biting into it

Reveals its bitterness  all the more!

So I mourn, while I write. 

I mourn for the words, 

I will never  give birth to. 

I mourn for the things you'll never know. 

എനിക്കെന്റെ  പ്രേമലേഖനങ്ങൾ പ്രിയപ്പെട്ടതാണ്. 

Because  they're both

the pain and the remedy. 

Roshni Ravindran

of.both.worlds

Begin Again.

There he was! Sitting at the same old corner of the cafe, next to the window.We have had a million dates at that particular spot.

I can see that he's nervous -quite contrary to the easy-going fellow I used to know.No,he hasn't seen me. Let me just give it a little time- for him to search for me in the crowd, probably the first time around.

I feel awed,by what time can do to people.It might seem unfair,what a span of a few years can do to a person.It robs him of all things he considered valuable and replaces it with things he never thought would matter.

The loud cheering of a bunch of youngsters brought me back. I think it's time to meet him. I got up and walked past the tables, to the corner ,where he sat. I kept my eyes on him.He was searching,fidgeting his car key,slicking back his hair, which I never knew he had grown so long.

 He was about to see me. I knew it precisely the moment before our eyes locked. All these years had done nothing to those dark black-holes, I used to admire. At least there's something that withstood the test of time.

He stiffened as he stood up.Is that a smile I see ,curving around his lips? I don't know, I was never good at guessing anyways!
"Hey!" 
"I'm sorry! , I'm late" - I said as we did an awkward handshake.
"Oh, that's fine"- He said trying to sound casual.

We shared a few minutes of awkward silences. I was in short of words too. After all, what was there to say? After all these years? What difference does it make?
The waiter broke in our tiny cobweb of silence. I was taken aback, when he ordered our usual snack! I didn't know that they still had them in their menu.

"So you remember it?"- I asked.
"You wanted me to forget? "
" I don't know"- I said. I really didn't know.

That was him.His 'typical' questions,when he gets serious, are rated as the 'World's No.1 Unanswerable Questions' . At least for me.
He broke the silence,when the snack was on the table.

"I didn't mean to be rude.It's just seeing you last day that made me upset"- He said.
"Upset?! , I didn't mean to be of trouble.I just wanted to meet you. 
I wouldn't want to upset you!"- I managed to say.
"No, no, It's just me.It's been a long time Riya.
I don't know what to say".- He said
"You are pretty much the same as far as I remember". He just smiled in return.

Oh!,How I used to crave for those dimples.I couldn't hide the excitement either.And yeah,he knew it too. I blushed in embarrassment. I had to say something!!

"So you landed up in a corporate job uh?" -  I asked.
"Yeah and you started writing as well ,I guess"-  He was quick to respond.
"Sort of"
"A book published and another one on the way, 'Sort of', wouldn't be enough"- He said.
"Oh, You read that?" - I couldn't contain my shock. Now this is something interesting , I thought to myself.
"Come on, I was in  that book, how could I not read?" He said. It was true, I couldn't deny it either.
"That wasn't entirely you.You don't disappear in the book"- Haha Checkmate I smirked mentally.
"I get that"-He said looking down at his coffee.

I didn't know what to tell to this guy,who had eaten up a hell lot of my sleep already.
After 4 years of vanishing into thin air,here he is- sipping his coffee in front of me,with the evening sun making everything about him shine.
No!, you can't be angry on a guy like that! Did he know what happened after? Wait !, Did he 'wanted' to know?

"What are you thinking?"- He interrupted.
"Just nothing."- I smiled.
"I wanted to say that your book didn't have a fair ending!"
"Oh!, I didn't know you thought like that,but why?"
"I mean why does she has to die ?"
"Everybody dies don't they?"
"It was very disturbing"- He paused.
"Interesting to know"-  I said it with a smile playing on my lips.I mentally kicked myself for being happy that it actually bothered him.Meanwhile, a better part of my brain hinted that he isn't entirely over it either.

I decided to push it.

"Why does it disturb you? After all it's just fiction.That girl in the book, she doesn't exist."
He didn't answer.Instead  looked straight into my eyes and I knew that there's no going away.

"I have to go,it's time."- I said, rather bluntly.

His face changed.But it lasted only for a second.He regained his composure and said in a 'matter-of-fact" tone.
"Oh,you can leave" He finally said.
"It was good seeing you Akash"
"You too"
As I stood up,collected my bag and turned around to leave, I could feel his eyes on me.
"Riya!" He called out.
"What?"
"Next time, don't do that"
"Do what?"
"Don't let her die,maybe there's a twist". He stared at me for a while.
I felt immobilized.
"Lets' see."- I said as I turned back and walked away.
Was he smiling?
Like I told you, I was never good at guessing!


Roshni Ravindran

@of.both.worlds

The Unboxing.

I'm the biggest paradox I've ever known. Insecure about almost all the things I do, but still a total narcissist. I try to tell other people, who I am in a million different ways. Some are subtle, whereas some are not.
But no matter what, they have got you all pegged. Those cardboard boxes, with bright little labels!

But there's a part of me, that has never found a home, rattling around in categories that never really did justice.
I look around at other people, trying to judge how loosely they fit into theirs, sensing a turmoil, a knot of confusion hidden beneath the name tag.
And I realize that we're still only strangers who assume we already know what the other is going to say.
Shouldn't we be writing our identities by hand? And speak only for ourselves, in our own words. So that we can meet each other as we are. And most importantly ask :
"What is it like being you? " , and be brave enough to admit that we don't already know the answer.

I thought I was following the arc of the story, but I find myself in passages, I don't understand.
Either everything feels important or nothing does.
It's just a mess of moments that don't even seem to belong to the same genre.
What kind of story is this?
I keep thinking that I'm on the cusp of some heartbreaking twist and  this is the best of what it's ever gonna be.
The only thing I know  is that, there's more to this story. Maybe I should re-read all those pages I had skipped earlier to get to the good parts. And maybe I'll realize that it was all about choosing my own adventure.

©Roshni Ravindran
@of.both.worlds

The Sunny Days N' More. -1

I did not find any particular reason to remember my childhood.Not any when sitting on a railway platform under a huge banyan tree.
Yet,my mind walked slowly towards the old blue-walled,simple moss-greenturned brown tile-roofed house.
There wasn't any proper gate as I could recollect.
I found myself struggling to open the wooden planks ,which were supposed to serve as the entrance to the compound.My tiny hands as a 4 year old pushing against the hard wood immersed in mud. I can see my grandmother behind me, my blue school bag in one hand,in a stiff orange Bengal cotton sari,her hair jet black, her skin glowing in the afternoon sun.She helps me get in by pushing the planks hard..the gold bangles jingling on her wrists.
Rushing down the slope,past my swing,past the giant mango tree,past the two year old jackfruit tree I'd planted along with my uncle,past the  2 feet high bushes my mother tends so fondly, I step into the coolness of the 'old house' as i call it.
The drawing room (as it was supposed to be) had grills on three sides, with exactly three plastic chairs and one fancy teapoy carved out of teak root by a maternal uncle.
I quickly went into one of the  two bedrooms the house had. It had the T.V  kept on top a wooden table to which i fancied sticking all of the free Big-Babul stickers my dad gets for me.
The upstairs had a dusty dim-lit room with an ancient double-bed coat of my grandfather's. This particular room was a magical one in my memories..with its triangular slits in walls..and glass ceiling between the roof-tile. The floor had always  funny  triangular patterns of sunlight on it.
To be continued..

A Midnight Dream

Where do you wanna go?
How much do you wanna risk?
Will the wind breathe in our secrets..
Or, will these sands etch away our footprints..
We're only getting older.
Been thinking about it lately.
Does it ever drive you crazy?
Just how fast the night changes !

Random Musings !

We human beings have always been into classifying things..It seems that this irresistible urge to categorize , to divide, to sub divide.. comes with our natural instinct to understand complex things.Or is it our inability to understand certain things, that are yet to be interpreted  or that which never has been ..?

                              And so this applies to human relationships too. We categorize , as fathers mothers uncles, aunts brothers, sisters, friends,lovers etc.It is an unsaid rule that every single one you encounter must fall into  any of these baskets.What if it doesn't ?Why do we always have to choose between the options ? Why are there "options" are the first place ? For example can and does one faithfully embody one's gender? Does the body yield to a singular definition ? Why are we 'ashamed' to address this plurality in us?Why do we always need  to silence those myriad contradictions of  our own thoughts ?I am  not just talking of gender alone. but it applies to many things we come across daily.
    
                             Unfortunately it is those little things that has fostered   a culture.-A generation and generations to come... We live in a society were the norms are less challenged and more strengthened day by day.Renaissance and reforms are confined and are of weaker voice.But as Tharoor remarked.in his epic novel "The Great Indian Novel" we Indians are open about our own differences.We do not attempt to subdue into the homogeneous crowd.Being a nation with both desert and snow ,of sea coast and hilly tracts.the Indian crowd has always welcomed differences. whether it was forced upon. or that which casually sunk in ,like a passenger who gets on the bus and nonchalantly occupies the empty seat next to us.We don't stop our thoughts to make room for him, we just accept his presence and carry on.. This has been the same with society apart from certain exemptions of ruptures and explosions that has arisen due to the differences in opinions    
                           Yet here we are ,living our own lives trying to make sense out of it .To find meaning if any .. Another untold tale written down in the big book of history , and soon to be worn out by time. But why am i being so cynical ?  if you ask be Then voila c'est la vie !!

The Art of Dwelling on The Past

Your life is written in indelible ink. There's no going back to erase the past, tweak your mistakes, or fill in missed opportunities. When the moment’s over, your fate is sealed. But if look closer, you notice the ink never really dries on any our experiences. They can change their meaning the longer you look at them.There are ways of thinking about the past that aren't just nostalgia or regret. A kind of questioning that enriches an experience after the fact. To dwell on the past is to allow fresh context to trickle in over the years, and fill out the picture; to keep the memory alive, and not just as a caricature of itself. So you can look fairly at a painful experience, and call it by its name.
Time is the most powerful force in the universe. It can turn a giant into someone utterly human, just trying to make their way through. Or tell you how you really felt about someone, even if you couldn't at the time. It can put your childhood dreams in context with adult burdens or turn a universal consensus into an embarrassing fad. It can expose cracks in a relationship that once seemed perfect. Or keep a friendship going by thoughts alone, even if you'll never see them again. It can flip your greatest shame into the source of your greatest power, or turn a jolt of pride into something petty, done for the wrong reasons, or make what felt like the end of the world look like a natural part of life.
The past is still mostly a blank page, so we may be doomed to repeat it. But it's still worth looking into if it brings you closer to the truth.
Maybe it's not so bad to dwell in the past, and muddle in the memories, to stem the simplification of time, and put some craft back into it. Maybe we should think of memory itself as an art form, in which the real work begins as soon as the paint hits the canvas. And remember that a work of art is never finished, only abandoned

Begin Again

After a long time .. !
It feels good to be back here again..
jotting down all those thoughts .. in this unseen corner of the web .
like footprints in sands .. that .. gets washed away.. with the rush of water .. i am trying to mark my thoughts.

That says!

The words as they come..

We are living in a world full of surprises, compromises, truth and lies.. Sometimes, you find yourself at sea . As if the whole crowd around you are streaming all around.. and you are still. - observing.. hearing every word.. looking every minute detail.. You seem to absorb it all... the things that others fail to see..  and you are left with a weird feeling.. of ease.. of restlessness... of being weighed down and levitated at the same time.. maybe that's the magic of time.. when seconds just stop for you... that's when you really  see, listen, breathe and live!. Live the moments .. for that's all what 's the risk is worth of.

Its been a while.. Quite a long time..  seems like i have lost all the words...  and it seems like i have lost to the world.. and the  madness that it embraces.. How many times do we have to win and lose ..? How many times can  we lie? How many times can we hide..? We are in a small planet  and in a still smaller world ...
I will take a long journey.. led by no roads.. all i seek is redemption..

If not me.. Then Who?... If not now ..Then When? .... 

All I can say is... Its just me in my Own World.. 

#day 3

May be lunacy is incurable.....

#day 2

 My indecisiveness pulls me down......... I am beating my impulse ........ which now shows me how irresistible .... things can get ..... !  
"I will wait .. I  will wait for..... "      --- "Mumford and sons " song on my head...