I finally publish

Monday, February 15, 2010

Cosy in discomfort

I lie
Nestled between the scars
Of yesterday and tomorrow.

Sunday, November 08, 2009

These shoes are meant for shop windows

So he bought new running shoes.

Out of shape he calls himself. Perfect is all I see when I look at him. But I get what he means. I'm the kind of wife who always understands- especially when I don't want to. He'll disagree on this. And I will agree with him.
See! No see? Look again.

He tells me, I'm gonna go running. Far and far and far. So far, I might not even come back.
He pretends not to see I am hurt. He's very good at that. Not seeing me.

I don't hear him go out in the morning. No sound of the lock falling in place that denotes sure exit.

So I wake up in total panic. My mind's been running to catch up with him already. And I lie awake waiting for him to come back.

What if he doesn't?

He does. He takes his time... as always. He loves to make me wait... as always.

Where do you get shoes that make someone run towards you?

Sunday, November 01, 2009

When there is no call to wake up

It was a Monday of sorts. Unformed completely. A little bit of the Sunday borrowed, reluctant to now part.

He wakes early everyday.

There was a time I used to rush to wake with him, my sleep trying to catch up with his. Then I gave up- I give up very easily. I wake to turn when he gets off the bed. I smile at his non seeing back. Its difficult even in hazy mornings to see how easy it is for him to walk away; no turns, no fond looks, no tender eyes.

I curl up the other way, the eternal companion of a pillow always on the other side; cold, pummeled hard and yet waiting.

I don't know why I do this. I might as well wake up.

But there are some days. After he walks around the frozen house, reads all the news that has already been made, puts the packet of milk on the kitchen counter and doesn't know what else to do while it thaws, that he comes back to me. Not exactly me. I have to work to not ruffle his ego and my sense of misplaced importance.

My mind is like an unfinished book; read and unread. By me even. Especially.

He walks over to the bed and tries climb into the blanket that is tightly wrapped around me. Its always a fight with me, even when I am pretending to sleep. I let him in or he lets himself in.

We both want to.

And then we both wake up.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Between nobody

I plucked a silence from you
I plucked a silence from me
And entwined it into a conversation of sorts

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Leaving myself behind

For every step I take towards you
You take none
And so I take two back

For every step I take towards you
I walk further away from you.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Blue Melody

It suddenly came upon me when we were in the auto. Like that. Some things happen like that you know.

I took a look at him and started to cry. Just like that.

He'd read somewhere that women were hysterical creatures. Men who write about women should be shot. And he was sure I fell in that classification firm. So he didn't seem too perturbed by it.

That just made me cry harder. What tears unseen worth anyway?

If he'd waited any longer, the auto driver would turned and offered me a sympathetic shoulder and that wouldn't just do. So he asks me, 'Why you crying?"

I never accept I cry and especially when I am.

"I'm not crying"
"Yes you are"
"I'm not"
"Yes you are"

What's the point of saying something we both know true anyway? So I go back to crying.

"So why you crying?"

It is with great reluctance I tell him my answer. Not that it matters much to him, but it sure does a lot to me. The weight of significance isn't uniform.

"I don't have any defences with you"

He doesn't say anything for a while. I look at him with tear filled eyes- he appears blurred. Am not sure exactly how far he is, but he appears blurred. I am sure exactly how far he is, a shoulder touching distance away, but he appears blurred.

"Why do you want them defences?"

That’s when I begin crying harder. Harder than the harder before.

His hand on my shoulder grips me firmer.

He reads the boards of the various shops we pass them by. One by one.

"Cell city"

"Juice wagon"

"Jolly tailors"

"Lovely snacks"

I stop crying and look at the names as he reads.

There is a blue cloth that flaps by the mirror in the auto. It makes a nice warm sound in the wind.

Saturday, January 03, 2009

The next first time I meet you

This is where I always wait for you. And I always wait.

I don't exactly know what it is I wait for. That first glimpse? That overwhelming feeling oh so inexplicable when I first lay my eyes on you? Or is it I wait for you to disappoint me by not coming? You buy that quiet certainty which is a recomposed emotion that I put out for you pretty effortlessly. I've become an expert at hiding my emotions. I'm becoming more of a woman everyday.

Every vehicle that pulls closer to the curb of my house, the eyes shine a lil more. So many vehicles pull closer to that curb... The eyes dim a lil with disappointment every time its not you. In those moments between anticipation and disappointment, I live. Life is a process of slow disenchantment. You don't think Sleeping Beauty ever regretted being kissed awake? She found comfort in the story that was her. Somewhere in it she held close the purpose of her existence.

I don't know the exact direction you will come from. The head turns restlessly this side and the other. I don't want to know anything for sure. So I pretend to be unbiased and look on either side of the road at not so equal intervals. I gave you all my love. It didn't matter to you that much.

In that first moment where I see you before you see me, I crease out the folds of the silliest smile you ever saw. You never saw rather.

And then I see you. The feelings that rush up... one of these days I'll learn to not hurt so much.

I hang up my face and pick up my collected mask. You know it better. I'm learning to know it better too.

I don't rush into your arms. You don't open them for me.

We meet a zillion first times.