She thought I didn’t see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes when we were going to ‘purani anarkali’ at three in the night, or the pain in her gaze when she was acting nonchalant in the evening and suggesting that we take a walk outside. All I wanted to do then was throw my arms around her…let her cry if she wanted to, talk about it if she needed to, tell her that I love her if it might mean anything to her, listen to her, comfort her, make her realise that I already understood but I wanted to understand more…anything that would make her feel any less helpless and hurt and angry about everything going on. But I didn’t. I just couldn’t. Not for lack of spontaneity, but of courage. And because of inexplicable embarrassment. I felt awfully revolted at myself, and I regretted it even more – I still do, but it doesn’t change anything because I lost that moment and, with it, the chance to do what might have helped at that point in time. Sometimes it’s humiliating to know your own short-comings so well and, yet, be unable to change yourself…sometimes it’s just sickeningly disgusting to be who you really are…

She never lost her poise at any of those times and she reverted to her cheerful demeanor within minutes, but I’ll never completely forget those vulnerable, naked emotions and the loneliness that I saw that night. Her integrity and strength surprised and impressed me; her fragility and sorrow nearly killed me, but all of it just made me love her more.

I was the last person to hug her at the airport yesterday, and I like to believe that I wouldn’t have cried as well even if they hadn’t left the next instant – I know that’s not true but I won’t admit it :)

I’m going to miss her a lot, I know that, but then I also know that I’ll think back on the last few days less and less as times go by and life picks up its usual pace…

I just hope I can always remember the last few days like I do right now, and I never forget to pray - for myself and for her…

God Bless You!

She holds her gaze as steady as she can, although inside she's shaking and fighting for outward control. She's on the verge of breaking down and losing whatever calm she has managed to display, yet her level gaze never wavers. Her expressive eyes plead justice. Beg for understanding and compassion. The vulnerability and sincerity shining from her whole being would have convinced anyone. No! Almost anyone.

But not this enemy. This enemy is too accustomed to battering innocence to have a conscience left within itself...their hooded eyes sparkle with deception; their piercing stares filled with self-created contempt and hate; their angry words veiled under sarcastic insults. They come closer and closer relentlessly - creating an inescapable barrier around her. Then perfecting it by closing in together...

Still she doesn't lose her carefully perfected exterior. It's the only weapon left she screams to herself. And even though her insides are writhing with fear and desolation, and her every breath causes her to wince inwardly as she battles against the sobs threatening to erupt any second, her eyes now reflect only cold determination. She knows they will never be humane enough to follow what even they know is the truth and concede her victory, yet her indomitable spirit wills her to remain defiant, even if it strains every pore of energy her body contains. It is sheer will-power that keeps her standing there, staring endlessly, silently refusing to accept defeat.

The continued act of self-resiliance in the face of such danger irks them rather than gaining their grudged admiration. Maybe it's not even their fault, since they were all long stripped of any human emotions. Their ragged breath is already coming in the shallow gasps of anticipation. They can already taste the tantalisation of crushing their opponent, with no regard for the dishonesty, deceit and lies that brought them thus far.

With a silent murmur akin to a hungry growl, they all begin to descend even closer to her - simultaneously and, in a sinister way, almost gracefully.

The years of meticulous disregard for humanity and the truth have rendered them such. The endless instances of sheer cruelty and force have extolled them to near-perfection in their 'art'. For it is nothing short of an art what they have accomplished...tormenting innocence with a ferociously determined, yet unspoken, vow to ravage it until they succeed in killing it. Completely and surely. Wiping honesty from the very face of the earth, until nothing but malice like theirs reigns in endless supremacy.

Their insistent growls, low in their throats, seem indefinably dangerous to her. As they march so close to her that she can see nothing past the solid wall they have skilfully erected all around her, the fear escalated unconditionally and wildly. Until it breaks. Her resolve shattered by the sense of impending, and immediate, doom she begins to scream. Full of fright at first, and then hysterically. Louder and louder, out of the fear that she had battled against for years, with eyes flashing around wildly, looking frantically for someplace to escape. Any place. The tears start pouring down her face - unchecked and desperate. It is another plea, another way of begging.

Undaunted, they stride on further, as if they cannot even witness the pathetic sight they all behold. Further and further, until her loud wails are enveloping the entire cave. Until her cries turn into muffled screams that are drowning out. Until they are so close that her breath turns jagged, and she begins to choke.

Uncontrollably...unendingly.

Even her chokes become muffled as they close in even more tightly, towering above her sitting frame, dwarfing her. They lean down to ensure their success. Gradually her cries become even more muted, and she begins to struggle for air.

She is rapidly losing control of all her senses, and she fights desperately for composure. She already senses that it's a lost cause. Yet the remnants of her battered pride do not allow her to submit herself willingly, even now when death is staring right into her face.

The chief suddenly thrusts his hands out and seizes her throat, ready to complete the task.

Her jagged breaths sending shooting pains across her chest and ribs now turn into pitiful gasps. Gasps of air that are coming too infrequently, and too ineffective.

Sensing victory is now within plain sight, they all let out a roar of approval. Their laughs reverbate in the secluded cave, bouncing off the walls and coming back with even more venom. Those howls are manic, yet ecstatic as they continue jeering her long after her body has been stripped of all human breath, long after she is just a pile of bones and flesh thrown carelessly across the floor...long after she ceases to exist.

It’s strange how sometimes distant relatives who you’ve never met for more than a few hours before, and their little children who are your second cousins, can manage to make you feel more at peace and more loved than you can remember being in a long, long time – and all that within just three short days.

I truly feel blessed. As clichéd as that sounds, it’s true.

That little six-year old girl with the charming smile, shy eyes and Midland accent who softly announced that I was her best friend, who refused to sleep anywhere but in the same room as me, who couldn’t understand why I couldn’t visit her in England if she had come from there to see me, who let me brush out her tangles when she wouldn’t let her mother do that even, who asked me with all the seriousness of a youngster what I dreamt about, who replied with equal gravity when I asked her for an example that the best, and most reasonable dreams, were made up of fairies and castles and magic, who hugged me every five minutes with childlike innocence and wonder – it all seems terribly childish but it managed to create memories. Special bonds that mean the world. Even to me.

Her eight-year old brother secretly confided to his mother that he thinks I’m hot…reveling in that compliment might seem cheap, but it’s the first of its kind for me, so I’ll accept it very gladly – and abashedly even, for that seems the appropriate way to react :p At least the eleven year age difference is sufficient for me to be sure that the comment was honest, and held no ulterior motives. Or who knows? After all, I’m known to be highly paranoid at times..hehe.

And then there was the other little sister, exactly half his age, with her pixie face and mass of curls that I still can’t figure out how she could see anything through since they’re always cascading around her adorable face, set off by a pair of the most mischievous and laughing eyes that I’ve ever seen. Her indifference to her mother’s scoldings, her inability to stay still for a few minutes even, and her habit of smiling and laughing with every word she uttered couldn’t do any less than captivate the most distant stranger even! I spent half my time chasing her around the house, and the other half admiring her drawings of people with separate stories, each human being having been bestowed with merely a circle for a face, followed by two stick-figure like arms and legs, a nose and a smile…not once did it occur to that little devil that there was a thing known as a body to which all those things are normally attached :)

And then there were those hours spent laughing at li’l Sallu’s antics, trying to teach him how to say ‘khota’ (and succeeding once when I made him say it to my brother) without caring that the poor guy could only speak three words as yet, playing football with him with a tennis ball, being ashamed and delighted that at one year and three months he could kick more accurately than me (and my brain-eye-foot co-ordination is definitely not appalling…the kid was just way too good!), entertaining him with all sorts of bizarre items including anyone & everyone’s ‘chappals’, ammi’s glasses’ cover, his empty feeder, little toy cars, plastic bottles, wooden spoons, empty ice-cream tubs, trays with mangoes in them, then being astonished and proud of my own creativity when he enjoyed every single object we played with and rewarded us with toothy grins and baby chuckles filled with glee, laughing hysterically when four of us pelted the innocent child with sofa cushions completely baffling him and he apparently enjoyed the ordeal, taking pictures of all his frolics, watching him dance around with the older kids, to the beats of hindi music that I hadn’t heard before, looking absolutely adorable (so much so that I actually threatened to grind him and eat him up..haha), letting him hit me with a walkie-talkie and then with his bare hands just because he was enjoying it for some retarded reason that only babies can understand…and best of all, reveling in those few moments when he suddenly decided for no good reason to throw his little arms around my neck and bury his head in my shoulder in unmistakable and unconditional hugs that somehow managed to touch me more than any words could…

And after all those whirlwind hours of excitement and love, spending the nights deep in whispered conversations with Pari baji, wondering how it took so many years to actually get to know her – and know her SO well. It was one of those amazing connections that I thought I’d never make so quickly. I’ve never trusted someone within a few short hours of talking to them, but somehow it happened this time round. Hearing incidents from her own teenage years which had hurt then, caused by people who I’ve been hated by as well somehow helped to alleviate some of the pain which has seemed to be omnipresent in my life recently. The sting somehow became less sharp just by being able to see that somehow else had lived through things very similar…the feeling of being understood in that regard by someone I had always known technically but never practically somehow rose above the empathy of people who’ve known my plight even longer…hearing and sympathising with her own fears and secrets that she's never felt comfortable enough to share with her own siblings even, somehow made me feel worthy of being trusted again, something which no one has managed to do in months...and it made me feel human again.

It took only the days from Sunday evening to Wednesday morning to conjure memories that I sense will last longer – much, much longer. Even though I don’t really understand why they mean so much, because writing about it all hasn’t portrayed how I really felt…what’s inside is much more, and it isn’t explainable. But it’s still there. Surrounding me like a warm blanket on a cold night, sheltering me from the usual despair even though it’s for a short time…I want to embrace it for as long as I can. And even after it’s no longer comforting, I still want to be able to look back and remember it and savour all those emotions…for as long as I can. And I know I'll be able to do that.

Because just this once God is on MY side! :)

Book Week in Blogland

Okay. So I got this idea from Sabahat’s blog, though I've written mine with no embellishments, and a far inferior knowledge of books. Oh but one li'l embellishment...I've added some comments in a few places, because somehow I cannot keep my mouth shut (or fingers under control, in this case) long enough to write a short post for once! Hehe. So, logically that means I shouldn't have bothered to make a list, but like I've said before...it's my blog, so I have every right to be stupid here if I like :) Nevertheless, those of you who read this post, do make up one of your own as well - it'd be fun seeing it!

The book that changed my life : To be honest, I couldn't really think of one to fit in here, so I decided to go with the closest that I could recall right now, though I'm not really sure if it truly managed to change my life per-se :) Fiela's Child, by Dalene Mathee.

The book I have read more than once : This has to be the category with way too many answers for me to even recall and sift through. For now, I'll just stick with one though that's not so easy right now. Boy, by Roald Dahl.

The book I'd want on a desert island: Aah! This was a toughie because I couldn't help thinking that if I really was on a desert island (and do bear in mind that for some unfathomable reason the only scenario in which I can possible imagine myself on one is if I was stranded there, and was all alone) I'd have far more important and interesting things to deal with, so reading a book wouldn't be very high on my priority list. However, as practical as that analysis is, for the sake of making my list I did have to choose something, so I thought it should be a book which somehow made me feel serene in a way that is very unusual and, curiously, unexplainable. Désiree, by Annemarie Selinko.

The book that made me laugh : My family and other animals, by Gerald Durrell.

The book that made me cry : A boy named Dave, by Dave Pelzer.

The book I think everyone should own : 'Labaik', by Mumtaz Mufti.

The book I am currently reading : One hundred years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garçia Marquez.

The book I have been meaning to read : Why I am not a Christian, by Bertrand Russell.

The book that I wish had never been written : The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho.

The book that I wish had been written : Haha, this has to be the most interesting and the most difficult question of all. It certainly had me stumped, and I still can't come up with an answer even half as intelligent as the question itself. The only book that comes to mind that I wish, at this instant, existed is Roger Federer's Autobiography, so I'm just gonna stick with that :)

Past, present...and future?

I need to redefine the word ‘family’ in my mind’s dictionary. Somehow I was naïve enough to believe until recently that the word includes your parents, siblings and your relatives. After all, they’re the people you grew up knowing… the friends you never had to search for, the people you trusted implicitly, who you’d stand up for and fiercely protect without a second thought, who’d love you for the person you really are, who you looked up to for guidance and ideals, in front of whom you never had to put up an act because they’d never judge you since they knew the real ‘you’…sometimes I wonder why I never realised that none of the façade was true.

Sometimes I laugh at myself for being such a simpleton that I actually believed that the sanctity of such a relationship would be as important to everyone else as it’s always been to me. Maybe I should thank the Lord for showing me the truth much before it could cause any permanent damage. Knowing what people think still hurts, especially when they don’t have the courage to say it out loud, but not knowing would hurt even worse…life has gone back to erecting an invisible barrier around oneself to shield against all of those people who smile with their lips and not their eyes, because their eyes look only with suspicion and greed…

Lies that have been repeated over and over again till the point where they become stale beliefs..accepted without question, revered without understanding. Hatred that has been etched so meticulously that its falseness is no longer an issue anyone would pay attention to. The pretence veiled so skillfully beneath layers and layers of hypocrisy that no one would ever guess their true intentions…their real motives…the lies, deceit, narrow minded beliefs… maybe the fact that I somehow know is no mere coincidence; maybe the person that it’s all meant for somehow knows. I’ve played my part in the disgusting circus by acting nonchalant and unconcerned, perfected by months and months of practice to the point where my subtlety and complete lack of feeling has begun to convince myself even. I know it’s futile, yet I remain shrouded within the dark cloud of indifference because it’s the easiest escape route. The only escape route.

I have to go on fighting – quietly, stealthily, alone. I have to. I have to. To hang on to the last thread…the only thing keeping me hanging from the brink. Of insanity.