Million Ways

The video call started with a view of his ceiling.
"Hey" he murmured into his Bluetooth earphones, but she still couldn't see him.
"What are you doing?" her voice was curious, but also an attempt at chirpiness. His 'hey' had sounded rather solemn.
"Cooking" he sighed.
"What are you making?" she feigned excitement. She knew too well to not budge him when he replied in that exhausted voice. Never in a hundred years would her boyfriend respond to direct questions like 'what's up with the one-word answers?' or 'why do you sound upset?'
He just sighed in response. She waited. "I started making an omelettte but now it's scrambled eggs. Figured I'd make an egg wrap instead."
"Mhmm. Sounds good. I know you love it." And she knew it was his comfort food.
"Yeah? Look at you telling me what I love!" the comment sounded sarcastic, but he had now picked up the phone and she could see his mischievous eyes too well to know it was just his dry humour. She looked at him patiently. He didn't put the phone back on the shelf.
" What's up?" She asked calmly. No probing questions, no 'You look upset' or 'How are you feeling?' she still wasn't sure if it was only her boyfriend who didn't get 'upset' or 'sad' and didn't like talking about his 'feelings' or if it was this whole species called men. Nevertheless, she understood his language of expression. They didn't need an everyday reminder of 'I miss you' and 'I love you' s. There were a million ways of saying those things.
"Nothing, man" he sighed again, and it sounded like he dropped the spatula in the pan or on the counter or somewhere. He had just turned around to go sit on the couch when she prompted in a small voice "check the burner" he looked back again to make sure he had turned off the flame, and as he did, he probably decided it was a good time to eat too. He quickly served himself in a plate settled on the couch with what was supposed to be an egg wrap, but now was simply bhurji-paratha.
She adjusted the phone atop her laptop and settled on the bed. While she was eager for him to say something about his day or his mood, she also knew he would feel a thousand times better once he had eaten, and probably more talkative too.
"I finished that book" she grinned.
"What the fuck, babe! Seriously? You need some discipline in your life. How are you going to stay awake all day if you're going to stay up reading a whole book in a night?" he exclaimed for the first time during the call. His expressions, however, were anything but of admonishment. He was smiling, looking at her as he often did, without saying anything, as if observing her face, trying to memorise it. He shook his head but kept smiling at her. In adoration, in love.
She smiled sheepishly, almost as if it was a naughty secret that she still stayed up nights reading like a teenager, a secret that she seemed rather proud of!
"I know. I'll sleep properly tonight." A half-assed promise was made. An I-know-you-too-well smile was rewarded with a 'huh' while he continued eating.
"Did you manage to get some work done today?" she asked.
"I.." he looked up from his food back into the camera and shook his head before looking back down, clearing his throat and taking another bite.
She didn't ask anything. He looked up again. Stared right into her eyes and said with a slight smile "I hate you for sending me here. You knew I'd have never come if you just said a word. Just once. I.. I hate you for not stopping me. You know that right?" Million ways of saying those things, remember?
She looked away. Blinked her eyes and replied "I know" almost a little too sadly. "I know. And I'm really really proud of you. You know THAT, right?" she tried to cheer him up again.
"I'm weally pwoud of you! You wouldn't say that if you had to taste this dinner. I'm actually glad you're not here to taste this. Hey, would you refuse to marry me if you don't like what I cook?"
"Maybe!" she winked.
"I'll learn." he replied sincerely, and then continued "But you know that cake actually tastes well. It's a little chewy, but I'll try again. I think I'll be a pro by the time you come visit. You reckon I can go on one of those baking shows?" he had finished his dinner by now, wiped his hands and stretched his legs on the couch. He adjusted the phone on the table.
"I'll say when I taste something. But I'm sure you can go on that show where they have terrible bakers"
"Yeah right!"
"Did you sleep on the couch last night as well?"
"Yeah dude. It's so much easier falling asleep here while watching Netflix. I got up and went to bed the other night but couldn't sleep there. I don't know, too quiet or something."

She Mmhmm'ed while she woke up her own cursor and started getting back to work, while he lay there, telling her about his day, asking about hers. 

Dormiveglia- the space that stretches between sleeping and waking

Sometimes when my roommate opens the balcony door to let sunshine in and starts tidying up the room in the morning, I blink up at her wondering if it's her or my mother or my friend from school I was just dreaming about. Sometimes I’m in the middle of a nightmare and I suddenly see her at the corner of my bed telling me that I've snoozed my alarm for the fifth time in a row. I blink up at her a few times, sighing. I tell her to please let me hold her hand for a few moments. She complies and I hold a finger. I used to hold my mother's finger when I slept as a kid because my hands were too tiny to hold her whole hand. But this is not my mother's hand. This is hers. And she just let me hold it without a question. 'Did you sleep soundly? You were murmuring something’. She tells me, her finger still in my grip. I don't know, I say. I don't remember. She sits there. I stare outside, trying to forget remnants of my blurred dream. I smile and leave her hand, get up, say my prayer and make my side of the bed. It's morning.

Waiting

Sometimes, staying alive is the most you can do.

Some days, trying to utter ‘happiness’ feels like metallic tongs in your throat holding you from within.

‘Love’ sounds like fingernails on a wall making you wince until you shut your eyes or look away.

‘Laughter’ makes your bones ache not with the tickle or the vibration but with the weight of expectations.

Sometimes loving and laughing and even living are too much.

Sitting or standing, even sleeping is too much.

Being is too much.

On these days, the best I can do is wrap my arms around myself and just stay here a little while longer. I can’t laugh, I can’t stand, and I surely can’t love. So I’ll just try to be. Hoping that these expectations will go away, these voices in my head will quieten, and hoping that when it’s all over, what will remain here will still be me. 

The Soulmate Thing

I don’t think I have a soulmate

I don’t think I had a lover in a past life

Who completed me

Or broke me

Or left me with a promise to find me in this life

In this existence

I feel as though I had a hundred of them

A hundred lovers

Or maybe more

Who took parts of me

And promised me

That they’ll keep them safe

Until we meet again

And I ask back for myself.

I think I’m running here from one lover to another

Back and forth

From one friend to the other

Once, then again

In circles

In spirals

Opening each lover

Dissecting their love

And then cutting myself in front of them

Asking them to help me find

Which piece of myself

I left in their custody. 

I’ve cut myself open

Too many times for too many people

And I’ve tried to fit wrong chambers in my heart

I've been mistaken

And have sometimes given pieces of myself 

That have left a hole in me

And sometimes I've refused 

To let myself bleed yet again

I've refused 

To have lovers search my darkest corners

Because I'm scared of shattering

The pieces I've formed till now. 

This lover who lays by my side

Tonight

Is not my soulmate

He’s not going to complete me

He might have a few building blocks

That he gives to me each time

He looks into my eyes

The lover I lost was not my soulmate

He gave me the pieces I might have

Given to him in a previous life

Or several lives ago

He snatched a little bit of himself

That I might have been carrying around for too long. 

I’m still going around with open wounds

Hoping that along the way I’ll find someone

Standing with a gauze

To help me heal and help me breathe

He’s not going to be my soulmate either

Perhaps I'm not looking for one soulmate

Perhaps there is no such thing at all

Because all I can think of

And all I can look for

Is to complete my own self

Collecting pieces one by one

Maybe, I'm not supposed to wander around 

looking for my other half

Maybe all of these lovers

With all the scattered love

Can only help me in parts

And maybe it is only me

who can make me whole. 

Red

My grandma sat me down one afternoon

In her lap and introduced me to a colour- red

This is you, she said

This is the colour of your cheeks when

Your father tickles you after you pretend

To be upset

The colour of your hands

When you cross them too tightly

Hiding behind me when mother

Comes for you angry

And when you run outside

In afternoons like this

Red is under your feet

Tired and burnt, But so alive

Know this colour, darling

So later when they tell you it’s scary

You look them in the eye

And say, No. It’s me.

When they tell you it’s evil

You bless them

And say, No. It’s me.

Know this colour darling, know yourself

Touch. Love yourself.

When they tell you you’re impure

You know it’s not you. It’s them.

Not In Love

I'm not in love with you. I don't remember the last time I was. I'm not even crying over you anymore. I used to, but then the hurt never stopped so I learnt how to stop tears. I'm crying over myself, a little, a lot, everyday. But there aren't any tears for myself either. I'm just, confused. Where do I go from here? I know I have to go alone, but where? And where will you go? On that path we chose together? I don't think you'll go there. You're not the one I chose that future with. You're different. Thank God I know that at least because I have no idea of who I am. I have no idea of who I'm supposed to be. I know I'm supposed to move forward and move on and forget the past and forget you and forget myself but then who do I become? I've been lying here in this old t-shirt for I don't know how long because I don't know what else to do. I'm tending to my wounds, carefully caressing each scar on my skin and taking my time to learn to love myself, since I was so busy loving you, discovering your body and your heart that I totally forgot about this one. So I'm sitting here now, taking slow drags of the abundance of pain lying in front of me. The stock is full and I have no idea where it's supposed to go, how it's supposed to fit into me. There's still love inside, so I'll have to empty some space. It'll take time, some learning and unlearning and some breathing. But it's difficult to breathe here, there's only smoke around. I caused it, I know, but what could I have done? I opened Pandora's box and now I have to live with it. But how? My vision is clouded and my heart is beating too fast but my limbs are too tired now. Have you ever experienced this? When you're so aware of your breaths that it's the only thing you can feel but you're still so numb that you're not even sure if you're breathing fine. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. I think I'll just feel tired today, and figure out the rest tomorrow, when I'm not so tired, or later maybe, because I don't think this tiredness is going to go away any time soon. It's here to stay, it seems, longer than you did.

At least there's space to stand

It's a busy busy day
With cocktail plans and morning wishes
There's online shopping and offline whining
Fashion wars and unsolicited advices
There's also wisdom, if you missed
Right there in those corner seats
It's too many lives for me to handle
To worry about
The one I woke up with seems too easy now
I can't talk to faces I think I might know from yesterday
or last week in the same train
I can't run as fast as they do when the train stops
Because
I'm too busy making a rhythm out of all these footsteps
It's chaotics and cacophonous
The same cacophony everyday
Honestly I'm bored of even the love I see here
Because then these faces
Are with different faces
Every month, every week, every day
I can't run fast enough to grab a seat
And I've been so slow all my life
That I'm happy with the little things
If I have someone to text or an interesting phone to peep into
Some days I'm happy when there's no one to text, also
And just some gossip to listen to
Today, I'm glad at least there's space to stand.