Paper Boat

The ripples chased each other as I placed the paper boat in the mucky green water. The thin paper body of the boat sunk soon; rocking at the same place for a few minutes and finally sinking as the water spread through the paper like blood in veins.

The rocking of the boat brought back some memories I had made sure I had forget. For the pain they caused me to remember the flashes of my childhood, the joy of feeling the fading memories was almost compensating. As the lump of my boat touched the base of the little puddle, a lump formed in my throat as I reminiscent those forgotten details.

“Jal! Where are you? You naughty boy!” bellowed my mother from the other end of the room. She was a soft spoken women in her cotton starched sarees and the ringing bells in her anklets. They announced her arrival every time she stomped across the hall, cuing me to hide under the table. Not like her sharp bellow wasn't an ultimatum.

“Are you hiding again Jal? You are already late for school. The bus will be here soon and driver uncle will be angry at you for making him wait again. Do you want to see him curling his mustache and his ears fuming?” That made me giggle. From my ambush I could see my mother’s feet. My giggle gave me away as her feet rushed towards the table and soon there was oil being rubbed on my hair and my tie was tighten almost to the limit of choking me.

“Jal? What are you doing here? Come on its time.” I shivered as I rose from the ground dusting my white kurta off any dust. I stumbled to the prey and stood there waiting for my instructions. Everything was a blurry haze. The sounds were muffled and the sky seemed grey. I went about the rituals mechanically. My body felt tired. My head felt heavy and my mind wandered. Soon I was standing with a torch in my hand. I could hear my uncle sob urging me to go on and burn my mother’s prey. Why did I have to do the deed? Couldn’t I be the one sobbing in someone’s arms like a helpless child in his mother’s arms? Mother’s arms.

The fire rose and flickered like a wild beast consuming the serenity possessed by my mother. The warmness of the woman was burnt and the essence of her living charred to nothing but grey ash soon to be blown away by the oblivious wind. Black smoke danced into the air rising upwards as if creating a passage for my mother to go up to heaven.

The kindness was gone. The late night calls were far away. The love was gone. My mother was gone leaving me to live alone and lost.

“Mama how can I make a paper boat?” my mother was sitting on her chair arranging the vase. Carnation enhanced the beauty of the ceramic vessel adding elegance to the patio table. The celestial omnibus lay beside it opened and marked from when mama last read it. “Jal don’t go out its still drizzling you will get a cold.” My mother warned without looking away from her flowers.

“How do I make a paper boat?” I repeated the question, now insisting. Mama sighed and took the crumpled square paper from my hand. She folded it multiple times and soon a boat bloomed out in her hand. I sat on the floor wide eyed with my mouth carved into an ‘o’. “How did you do that!” I exclaimed as I took the vessel delicately from mama’s hand like it was the ceramic vase.

Mama gave out her warm knowing smile and ruffled my hair. “Go on set sail in that puddle over there.” I ran bare feet onto the squishy damp mud to a puddle wide enough to be an ocean for my boat. I lightly placed it on the water surface and ripples of water set out, running towards the edges. The drizzle hit my face lightly and fell on my bare shoulders as I shivered. Soon the boat was soaked and sank filling my heart with disappointment.

“Seems like your boat sank.” Mama confirmed as I walked to the patio sulking and pouting. “I thought it was as strong as me” I complained. Mama glared at me to wipe my muddy feet and said softly, “even the strongest boats sink and the strongest men can be defeated bacha.”

“No! Nobody can defeat a strong man!” I exclaimed in anger. “Why?” mama asked calmly. “Because he is the strongest of all!” I exclaimed in childish illogical stubbornness. She pointed at the fallen tree killed by the thunder storm and looked at me with her warm deep brown eyes and said, “That tree fell being the strongest of all. It died because of its own strength. Killed under its own weight. So did your boat. Sank due to the burden of its own weight as it soaked; now just a lump of its own stubborn strength.” She looked into my eyes “we all do die a little under the burdens we soak in and allow to weigh us down.”

I looked at her and asked softly, “did you read this in that book mama?” she gave a hearty laugh, pinched my nose and went back to arranging the flowers.

Now I was dying under the weight of my own sadness. Just like the paper boat continuously soaking and then soon sinking.

Few words: I hope this metaphor is understood.

Hair

The divergence of her hair went unnoticed. Her mane, like a jet black waterfall entered a room before she did. She didn’t like it. Waking up with shorter hair every fortnight, it wouldn’t surprise her that her mother had cut her hair at night. She didn’t like it. Voices were raised every evening over her hair and how her denial towards it was nothing but insolent behavior mixed with a ting of madness.

She liked that.

The wind danced through Meera’s hair. The hands of the air tangled it into knots and the galore of the whistling whisper of the trees only provoked the insanity in her. Resting her hand above her head on the cold steel she swung her leg by a dangerous angle at the water 50 meters below. She giggled as the vapors of cold droplets splashed upwards. The sky blended with the sea separated only by a thin wisp of red clouds. The waves curled and uncurled under the bridge with spurts of white foam that bubbled around the pillars. The crashing of the water, like the beating of drums overwhelmed the silent lull of the bridge.

Meera’s identity lay in her hair. Walking in the hallways people would touch it and pull it without permission. It had even been checked at the airport. “Oh look at that” was heard oh so often she woke up every morning to the echoes of the anthem. She was no Rapunzel. But a freak with hair that were now part of her name and no prince would want to climb up it.

Every day since her 5^th year of life, it was starting to make her angry. Angry enough to break articles and immerse in bouts of anxiety.

But her hair was a part of her. She had learnt to carry it. Caress it and love it like a new born child. But now she had to let it go. Her beautiful black hair that fell in thick ropes of knotted hair resting heavily on her head. That flapped occasionally when she peeked outside her car window to breath in a little of freedom. It was just a part of her madness she loved. But now it was time for her to be truly free.

A shiny pair of scissors would have done the deed, but she chose the easier way. The way that would release the worldly bounds of selfish desire and integrity to please. She had a dream that she could fly. And now she was set to fulfill it. Her insanity was victorious and now it was time to rejoice.

She pulled the hair tie out of her hair and swung it into the water. Meera smiled. The glorious smile of a maniac winner after a victory. The lunatic smile. A crazy grin. A happy smirk. Then a snort of denial. Meera believed that it would end and he would be happier when it wasn’t real.

So she flung herself into the air, hands wavering and legs shaking. Her hair like a fishing net thrown into the sea and a genuine smile on her face radiating with madness. She fell across the dark red horizon, she fell with trust because she believed she could fly.

She couldn’t.

A far fetched desire

I won’t deny the fact that I am someone who doesn’t exist. You will find a face to fit on my non-existent one and that’s what I will look like. I reside in the yellow pages of those old books in your bookshelf and as time touches the spine of the hardbound cover, I shiver, but I am immortal in the memory of the pages.

You humans have been falling in love with our likes for years. We are unreal, surreal. We feel the emotions given to us and go about our lives in our predetermined destiny. But I beg to differ. I’m meant to fall in love with Tris my soul mate in this book, but in truth I’m in love with her.

I’m as good as a blind man. The only faces I know are those of the people in my world. Their expressions only vary from frowns, smiles, smirks and grunts and emotions range from pain, predetermined happiness and predicted mourning of death. I know what my fate is, but she doesn’t. She anticipates my death and cries at night for me like I am a real person.

Once I felt wetness on the crisp pages, the page where I almost lost Tris. If I could feel any other emotion I would probably run to her and envelope her in my embrace assuring her nothing would ever be wrong. But all I could do was feel hurt for my soulmate. Oh how cruel that they are two of them.

My whole story has been a lie.

 As the pages turn wavy with her tears and smiles, I try to imagine her face. To me her world is unlike mine. I imagine it to be bright and sunny, where the moon runs through her hair at night and her body is warm unlike the coldness here. Nobody is divided into factions like us and she is the most beautiful girl in the world. But it’s so difficult to imagine her face sitting on her shelf every day, so close but not close enough to know the real her.

She knows everything about me and that’s cruel. She yearns for a Tobias in her life but she doesn’t know that the real one wants her. She wants to be a part of my life and that makes me feel evil to want her in my cruel world. Only her feelings are palpable to me but I’m cruelly derived of her touch and love in my reality.

But the truth is, it’s a farfetched want. I will always be waiting in the loneliness of these pages and soon I will just be a phase for her and she will grow old, with someone else, her mind will wander towards others of my kind, she will cry for them and smile for their victory, but yet I will still be a childhood memory.I will always be waiting immortal in these forgotten words for her to pick my story again and run her fingers across the pages alive with my desire.

And I will fall in love with her all over again.

A few words (in a picture):

How do i fix me?

Few Words- This is the very first poem I ever written. So be kind and please leave your opinions in the comments so that i can improve where I need to. This shows my vulnerable self and I am showing the mirror to all of you too. 

Enjoy :)

The ground shivers and the storm rages.

And all I can do is stand and stare.

Where are you? I have been looking for so long,

I am not sure I can still breathe that you’re gone,

Your futile attempts bore no fruits,

Instead poisoned the tree that had been growing for so long.

Because of you the only butterfly that fluttered is dead,

Leading a perfectly beautiful flower to unwanted death

I shall dance to remember and sometimes I will dance to forget you,

But the absence of your presence shall reside somewhere deep within me.

Your ancient touch tingles my skin,

And your forgotten voice haunts my dreams.

I had been a hypocrite when it came to love,

But oh dear, it changed the moment all I could see was you

Above me all that I saw was your false affection,

And the black love that bled out of your heart.

How it pricked me to see you pierce that faith I had in you,

But all you saw was your wellbeing.

You went and woke my demons,

Now will you ever return to put them to sleep again?

Dear diary

He is oblivious to how beautiful he is.

As the golden arrows of sun struck his hair, they shone in waves of shimmering brown hue while the richness of his skin complimented them. 

The smile lines playfully grew deeper as he smirked my way while his watery brown eyes hovered over my lips. They were like the sea. Calm and kind but a kind of storm raged in them that only a sailor saw at the sea. 

I wasnt terrified.

I was amused.

His sun kissed wheat colored skin made it irresistable not to stare at him. And for how lovestruck i am, i didnt even try otherwise. As he turned and gazed out of the window intendly, i saw the little boy who had grown into the gentleman that only i saw at the moment.

Even while sensitivity dominated his emotions, he was brave. His high cheekbones and rugged jawline made it even difficult fr me to look away. The curve of his soft pink lips changed as he playfully bit his lips as the corner of his mouth turned to a small smile.

I felt lucky.

I was lucky to have the piece of miracle all to myself. I was reminded of a warrior looking at him. A stubborn and courageous man who would fight for what was righteous and his, but yet had that soft heart overwhelmed with kindness and humbleness.

He cared.

As he turned and smiled tht perfect smile at me i was charmed and i think he noticed the twinkle in my eyes.

My cheeks flushed and i realized i was very very very very fond of him.

Few words: This is a really small random entery from Mia's diary from falling for you series. Her love for Mark is reflected through how much she respects him as a person and how amusing he is to her. The last thing she would want to do is say good bye.

Fairy tales

Disclaimer: If you are faithful to these works of fictions and may get offended easily, please feel free to stop reading. If you still choose to continue reading, either grab some popcorn and coke to enjoy or a whip if u choose to hate and hit me for writing this. And whatever the result might be enjoy yourselves unicorns. 

As a little sweet girl I grew up with sweet memories of love and happiness that a Disney princess movie gave me. Oh how those shiny little sparks would fly around as the happy couple kissed promising each other company and faith for the rest of their life. And narrator in his happy, “I knew it” voice would declare, “and they lived happily ever after.”

Happily ever after…pfft…lets snap back to the real world please.

I have grown up believing everything is as beautiful at the world of fairytales, where every little girl grows up to be as beautiful and delicate like belle or Cinderella and her few years of misfortune lead to a happy ending where she is a princess with no worries and has the most charming prince in the world to sweep her off her feet. But I am still a potato and will never be like these princesses without a plastic surgeries and I don’t have a forest to wander off to, to get a prince who shall rescue me. Thus, my years of misfortune are still going on.

Fairytales provide you with false hopes.

 Most of the times.

Cinderella had to find through the whole village, clean cinders and bear her torturous step sisters just so that she could gain the blessing of her monitoring fairy god mother so that she could go to the ball and find her charming there. And as I am stating the obvious, it turned out to be the very prince of the state. And we don’t even know how he may treat her when one day she losses her beauty and turns into an old lady not strong enough for him to dance with.

Snow white found her prince charming too. But what if he was actually a lazy spoilt prince who would just laze around while the beautiful snow would toil to make the ends meet? What if he killed the kind dwarfs who saved her life out of jealousy?

Falling in love with a hideous but kind beast is actually a pure act of abnegation and bravery.  Belle is a brave child and a caring daughter to her father. As we raise a toast to her kindness, I would even like to say she is a stupid girl. She doesn’t really speak up when she has to stand up for her father and her family and the beast and gets locked up in the room of hopelessness.  If she would just continue to be terrified of the beast may be she would have a simpler life not bothering about a lone soul she doesn’t know.

But how could she do that? Could she? The beast had to be a prince under a curse and she had to be his true love and their paths had to cross. Why so cliché?

These fairytales say big lies that break our hearts ahead in lives. Somewhere as little girls we still wish we had a prince charming with a sword and a white horse. He would drawn his mighty sword and rescue us from the clutches of this evil world. But most of us have to settle for the imperfect and learn to love them. Since beggars don’t have a choice! XD

These movies don’t come with disclaimers of not to watch them since they don’t come true literally.

 In Grimm brothers’ tales all the fairytales had hideous endings but yet somewhere even a happily ever after.

Sure there were evil queens, selfish mothers and witches like in the movies, but Grimm brothers’ tales had blood, pregnancy, sacrifices and anger and therefore drama, making these fairytales a lot more believable.  And I like these versions since they can be metaphorically compared to reality.

They typically show that a story is not flawless {evil mothers and sisters are not grave flaws. But pregnancy and murder are}. It has its own ups and downs but yet two deserving people find their way back to each other. These old fairytales display the doings of karma.

So like I said fairytales don’t always give false hopes. They help us believe in what we want and the fact the goodness always takes over evil which I still find a little cliché, but yet true.

Kindness is an important virtue and so is bravery. (All fairytales have always being about the journey of a princess and not the prince. Why not?). But yet we must continue believing in magic and miracles of the universe and that within ourselves.

Little mermaid, beauty and the beast, Cinderella yet remain our favorite bed time classics. But I just wish they would rather give a real lesson to small girls rather than breaking their hearts later with false hope of a perfect prince charming.

As I write this I realize as much as I am angry with the unfairness, I would still enjoy getting lost in the magical world of happily ever after and musicals now that I know the real, bitter truth.

PS- My favorite fairytale is Rapunzal.

Real Grief

There is nothing painful then the thorn of pain that pricks you each time you realize that you can never have the thing that you desire. Desire the most.

A small girl with her black curly locks danced around in the sand. Her brown eyes sparkling with joy mesmerized me as she cupped some sand in her tiny chubby hands and tossed it in the air. As the sand fell back to the ground she grabbed some more sand and tossed it in the air only to further decorate her dark hair with it.

The wind blew and the sand swept in her eyes. Immediately those little diamonds started welling with tears as she rubbed them and wailed a shrill cry. Immediately two worked up arms surrounded her and embraced her with care and love. Concern swelled in the women's eyes as she hushed the girl and blew in her eyes. She ran her slender bony fingers through her hair and picked her up and took her away as Lina watched them go, with sheer admiration and longing in her eyes.

She sat there, on the cold wooden bench on a warm sunny day as the blanket of agony spread over her as she remember that she wouldn't be able to touch a pair of chubby cheeks that gave her a feeling of belonging.  Or look in to a pair of large, round black eyes that looked back at her with overwhelming love that didn't know what was being judgmental.

Getting up every morning with the same thought in mind was hurtful even though it was like a daily routine. Getting up alone on one side of the bed with the other side cold and empty; empty in the absence of a little being. She wished someone would roll across her bed and hug her from behind, as the kids tiny body would press against her sharing her warmth.

She wanted a tiny pair of feet running around in the house tapping across the marble floor while the hysteric laughter of the child would spread across her house like the aroma was freshly baked cookies. She wanted to fill the cupboards with clothes smelling of baby powder and she smiled at the thought of the colorful toys scattered around on the floor recklessly.

As lina sat on the bench staring at the trees, she admired how well the sky had been painted with the warm colors of white yellow and blue. The wind danced around as her hair fluttered in the air and her eyes got lost further.

She had always imagined a small body cuddling in her arms as she would hold it and would put it to sleep. Looking at the baby she would lightly run her fingers across the baby’s cheeks as it would gently purr in its sleep. And sometimes its large watery eyes would look at her as the baby would lightly reach out to touch her cheek with its small palm radiating pure energy and love

Its playful laughter would make her smile as the baby would wriggle in her arms and laugh like there is nothing happier then being there with her.

Lina snapped out of her reverie and wiped the tears that had ghatered in her eyes. She sniffed and slouched back onto the bench. She knew she would never know how it would feel. To see a part of her have her eyes, or nose or skin. But she knew it would never happen. She would never be a mother she wanted to be. She longed to care and love and devote herself to her own child. But it could never happen.

She didn’t want to think why.

She was stubborn to have her own kid so adoption was a last restore. And she wasn’t even financially strong to do so. Lina sighed and got up. She wobbled and then walked onto the footpath brushing this thought aside. She envied all the mothers who walked with their kids. Though her friends complained about the mount load of work they had and how their lives were a terrible mess, Lina wished she could crib about something like that cause the gifts of motherhood were tremendous.

But she couldn’t experience it. As she walked back home all she knew was no one could understand er pain but a childless woman.

Few words- We all should be proud to have these loving women in our lives who we call mothers. As much as we love them they wouldn’t be mothers without us. So respect them and make their life worthy as no one cares for you more than they do. Happy Mothers Day. 

My relationship...

The very first memory I had of food was milk. And believe me, I hate that memory and will hate milk forever.

Thus, my first meeting with food didn’t go very well. And my relationship with food was very much abusive in the early years of my life too. The bitter nature of the bitter guard gave me scares of hunger and vegetables haunted me like evil creatures coming towards me with their swords and promises of good health. I hated them. And I still do. How much ever I try to convince myself to accept these vegetables, our relationship is not worth another try. And I think animals deserve them better.

I met meat. The happy phase of my life had started. The succulent chicken would never fail to please me and the softness of the fish would fill me with endless joy and my desire to eat returned. I stopped missing my meals and my health after my pathetic break up with vegetables flourished. I bloomed like a flower and my heart and stomach were at peace. We never fought and never disagreed. We used to spend days and days together but we were never bored of each other. On special occasions, when the chicken would dress up with spices and flavors, I felt special and was grateful to have such happiness in my life.

Then I met pizza. It was love at first sight. Her curves so round, were as perfect as the moon. The redness of her surface was delicious and her stretchy, long, soft body was all I dreamt about day and night. I was awestruck when I first looked at that beauty. Steaming hot and perfectly cooked, she lured me into her trap. When I experienced her first was the best night (dinner) of my life. The flavors of basil and tomato burst in my mouth while the cheese genteelly caressed my tongue. The meat had accompanied her, sending me directly to the seventh heaven. I was mesmerized as the arms of delicious pleasure hugged me.

Obviously meat was jealous. But it was understanding enough to get along with pizza. But vegetables still continued to haunt me but occasionally appearing with pizza on our dates. While pizza smiled beautifully, they grinned with horror across their face. I was practically helpless that time. But then I learnt to avoid such situations by never looking at the vegetarian menus.

That was the best trait about pizza. She gave me a choice. I could choose how she would dress up. And even gave me the privilege to choose her most beloved feature: the cheese. She always came like I wanted to see her and she never ever disappointment me.

But due to evil researchers and parents, we separated. But we managed to maintain a long distance relationship. I get to see her on special occasions and that time I can see nobody else but her.

But every relationship has temptations and distractions. I got distracted for a while. Burger came along. She was fluffy and delicious. She didn’t make me as happy as pizza did but she filled up the gaps in our relationship. I used to see her every other day at Mac Donald’s and would spend quality time with her. Pizza was jealous so she broke up with me. But I was glad to. She was not helping my body at all.

But we separated on good terms. We meet occasionally.

And I was back to square one. Under the captivity of healthy food. Helps my body but not my taste buds.

Well, as an optimistic foodie, I have learned except food in every form and keep moving on in my life.

But pizza, I still love you. And I will wait for you always. I will always look forward to our meetings at pizza hut.

XO Niki.

(I am sure other foodoholics can relate to my life story! ;) :P)