In the end, everything will be okay. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.

A : "On the bright side.."

B : "..wait! is there a bright side?"

A : "There's always a bright side baby, always."

B : "Then why don't I see it?"

A : "Because somethings are not for you to see. Like the sun rays, like the real size of all the tiny stars in the sky."

B : "But then, what is their purpose."

A : "There's a beauty in feeling, not seeing."

B : "I think people just say that to make themselves feel better."

A : "Then does it make you feel better?"

B : "No. I know better."

A : "But do you really?"

B : "What are you even saying?"

A : "What are you saying? That you'd rather see everything right?"

B : "Um, yeah!"

A : "You say it now, but you wouldn't really. If you see all the sun rays and blind yourself with them or just feel the warmth which would you rather have?"

B : (silence)

A : "If you could just see the enormous size of the stars rather than be dazzled by the patterns of their tiny shapes and feel their brightness, which would you chose?"

B : "I think I know what you're implying."

A : "Good, it'll help you understand things more, people more."

B : "I do already. Is that why you never say you love me? You want me to feel it?"

A : "No darling. I never say I love you because I don't. There's a different between feeling and wanting to feel. The thin line between what it is and what you'd want it to be. The thin line between reality and illusions."

B : "Then I want to believe this illusion."

A : "I know baby. At times living an illusion is so much safer than reality."

5 essentials.

1. I love typing. The words seemingly come to me better with a keyboard. Letters, syllables phrases, sentences just have a way of forming themselves while my fingers type whatever it is that my brain is thinking at the moment; at times I feel it’s all so well co-coordinated that I myself realise my emotions only once I’ve put them on paper. At times when I don’t know what exactly is on my mind, I sit down to write, and sooner or later I do find out.

2. I love music. Words hurt, music heals. At times it’s so good to know that another person has gone through the exact same as I’m going through now. It’s so easy to lose myself in the words, in the beats. It’s surreal. I listen to repetitive music, you can call me a conservative but I like listening to something I’m at peace with. Something that helps me discover a part of me.

3. I love reading. It’s a whole new world, where my existence is immaterial. I’m going through a fast-forward version of someone else’s life. Which may or may not be better than mine but it’s rarely the same so there’s a thrill, an excitement to find out what happens next. I hate putting down a book that I’m reading; almost as if it’s movie playing and I’ll miss it if I engage myself in something else. The characters, the plot, the very imagination of the writer to me in enthralling. To be able to create a world apart from my own, a vivid one at that, in front of my eyes, is the most difficult task a writer is set to and yet, the most exhilarating.

4. I love the internet. I shall forever be indebted for the creation of internet, because it is truly man’s best creation according to me. It helps me be with my friends mentally even when I can’t be with them physically. It helps me stay in touch, it helps me be me. It’s funny but I feel paralyzed without signing in once a day. It’s like I feel incomplete until I’ve opened my mail everyday. That’s what helps me carry on when everyone and everything starts seeming so distant.

5. I love me. Yes contrary to public belief, on most days I am in love with the person I am. I used to hate being me, living up to my name, my image that I’d created. I’d started hating stretching myself just to prove myself every time. But I like me, way more than anything else. I can look in a mirror all day, making faces. I can do just about nothing all day and still be happy with myself. I can cry and whine and throw a tantrum over the most insignificant things but I can also care, understand, laugh, not-give-a-fuck and yet love and support you more than anyone else. I can party kick-ass if you want a Paris Hilton. I can be totally mute if you need a listening ear. I can make you feel very good or very bad about yourself. I can give you the right advice, the appropriate advice and also the most reasonable one. I can be totally mad or totally sober, whichever you may please.

So yes, I know you all think I’m a compulsive-depressive-pessimist but no baby.

I love being the multiple, multi-tasking person that I am; I’d be pretty bored of being plain-Jane, repetitive, monotonous and predictable all the time. I hate predictability man. So you’ll never know my next move unless I let you in on my evil plans! :D

Cheers to nineteen years of being a true case of multiple-personality-disorder.

I was, am, and for forever more shall be, the maddest girl you ever came across, but also the most unique.

My defense:

Most people were raised to believe they are just as good as the next person.

I was always told, I was better.

Original Sound Track - Aisha

Music has the power to heal. It has the ability to fuse people worldwide.. instigate certain feelings.. induce emotions.. make you connect to yourself.. it makes you feel what you've been yearning to feel but just didn't know it quite until that precise moment when that beat struck against your eardrums.

I've felt this after really long, I felt it last with the album by One Republic - Waking Up. It had been a sort of awakening for me, every time I played that album. But I linked that to a certain person, attached certain memories with that music and soon, the beauty was lost.

I am used to having memories with every song on my playlist. Everything reminds me of something. But at times I don't want to be reminded. And so it's nice to stumble upon something new, something fresh.. something which leaves the option of making new memories, open.

The soundtrack of Aisha did that for me, after a long time. The words spoke to me, and me alone. A chorus that none other could quite capture. Softly, silently, bringing nothing but a whiff of peace, just before dissolving into a completely novel tune.

My favorite would be Lehrein undoubtedly. From the first instant, there was something about that song that pulled me in. I would dedicate it to anyone reading this.. that song puts into words what I feel.. the music would be the theme of my life.

This last bit is for you Priyamvada;

I find solace in this music. This music doesn't hurt or sting like the rest, because I'm not haunted by your thought when I hear this. Thank you, for not taking this away from me too.

Yellow.

I used to chase yellow butterflies. You liked to shut them in a jar and keep them; then watch them struggle and die. It used to amuse you perhaps as to how you held chains to someone else’s life. And I was your alibi in that murder for a casual entertainment of yours.

I used to buy cracked yellow china and porcelain plates because you liked the particular sound they made on hitting the floor, when you smashed them against it. I used to sweep away the pieces and throw out the trash quietly as you went for your walk, which you only took after an anger outburst.

I used to book tickets for a vacation every month because you liked to travel. I would pick up stones from our journey when you weren’t looking, as a memoir, since you hated photographs being clicked. You said it broke the fluidity and spontaneity of the moment.

You didn’t like my study so I used to hang pictures of us there to assure me that we were still together. You would storm into the study and tear them apart at random times. I never stopped putting them back together by cello tape.

You liked reading books. I would buy you a new book each week, just to see your intense yet eager face coming alive with the turn of every page. You never let me read them. You dismissed them as unworthy of my time.

I liked to visit my mother’s grave at the cemetery. I would take yellow sunflowers for her every Sunday as they were her favourite. You’d accompany me reluctantly and that cigarette never left your lips, even if it meant ashing on my mother’s headstone.

You loved rain and thunder. We shifted to a place where you could have more of both. You’d come back from work and see me curled up in bed, afraid of the lightning. You never said anything but quietly came and curled me within you.

You were a rage in bed. Our bodies collided with perfect motion, but somehow I could never quite match you. You were relentless and untiring as I tried hard to keep up.. you never forced or coerced me for more.

At night when we lay together, was when I felt closest to you. It was like your heartbeats spoke to me, the words that you never said. Those creases on your forehead never relaxed but when you held my hand I knew that I had the right to touch, and the power to dissolve them.

You liked your space and I never invaded. I guess I got used to staying not with you, but the thought of you.

Cancer took you away soon, much too soon.

I wonder if you were making it easier for me.. by becoming distant. If you were, then it was a bad try. Your anger I know, was never directed at me. It was always your war against fate and conflict with God.

I never believed in God, having lived with an Atheist like you all my life. But I saw you resort to prayers in the dark when you thought I wasn’t looking. I hope that you didn’t break your convictions for my sake.

Your memory will never be enough for me. The shine and rage of your eyes will never die. The flame that you alone could ignite in me, may have died now.. but the fact that it once shone, and shone its brightest for you, will never be questioned.

I live as a proof that we existed. I see all those torn pictures now, the scars of which I could never hide. I have that broken china, those cracked glasses and everything else that you thought you were destroying. You couldn’t destroy enough baby. It’s all intact... right down to my soul, which is still yours, and forever will be.

I maybe sleeping alone but at times I do feel an odd warmth around me.. as if your arms are still there. And when I open my eyes I realize that you’ve taken up my dreams too. You couldn’t even bear to spare that part of my existence, could you?

I close my eyes and feel you all around me. In the maddening thunderstorms, in the warm morning rays, in the captive butterflies, you’re everywhere; and yet you’re not. It’s with a knot in my stomach that I open my eyes, always hopeful that I’ll get to see a glimpse of you. But I never do.

I don’t visit your grave. I know you wouldn’t like it. But I still travel. I revisit all the places we’d been together and relive all those moments that you forbade me from capturing. Your essence is still there.. in those meadows.. in those shadows.. in that vast, all encompassing ocean.. in every grain of the beach sand.. in every cloud of the moonlit sky.. in that horizon..

that is a memory that neither you nor God himself could taint, destroy or take away from me!

Letter from a Daughter to her Father

You taught me these words, these alphabets and yet when I am to write to you, I find myself at a loss. I feel nothing I ever write will come even remotely close to what I want to say. Neither do I have the vocabulary, nor do my words have the power to get across the intensity of my emotions.

I think I should start by thank you. For all that you’ve done and continue to do. The standards you set, the principles you believed in and the morals you’ve lived by are enthralling and continue to be difficult to follow. But to see how you’ve never compromised and led life on your terms is something that stirs me.

I find it hard to define perfection. I find it harder to fall in love. So, I am in love with fictional characters. Hence the love of my life has been Howard Roark, a character from The Fountainhead. I never thought I would see a man like him in real life. But you’re someone who comes very damn close Papa. And that for me is the highest degree of compliment I can give a man.

I should come next to sorry. For all the times I disobeyed and disrespected you. I maintain that there were times I was right and you were just unwilling to give in. But well even then, I should have been the one to give in. The sort of arguments and discussions we have had, you and I, are unparalleled in a father-daughter history. I have truly had the freedom of speech.

You always stood by your word. A promise made by you was never broken. I am where I am because you are a man of his word (except when it comes to quitting cigarettes, LOL). You’ve appreciated honesty, inculcated courage and always, always had my back.

The only thing that’s ever broken you is me. The only thing that’s gotten tears in your eyes would again be me. I used to cry for hours when you called me a disappointment. But as I add another year to my life I realize I was precisely that for a man like you. You raised me to be an extraordinary person, and as of now I am nothing but ordinary. If I grow up to be even half of what you are, I would be truly happy.

I used to feel always that if I could, I would change a million things about you. And yet, today there is nothing I’d want different. I’d want you to be as strong and strict and hard. I’d want you as my father in every birth. There isn’t a safety net quite like you, anywhere in the world.

Your mails, your letters, your “what’s-up beta”, your smileys, your calls, your voice.. they make me ecstatic; they make me strong. You make me who I am. You’re a part of me, you’re with me everywhere I go. You’re the reason I go on. I can’t quit on you, ever again. The immeasurable pain I’ve caused you can’t be taken back but I want to do everything in my power to make sure I never cause it again.

My friends call you Hitler. I don’t disagree. But then I don’t mind being your Nazi. For life.

I Love You.

Crash.

Find it in your heart, to give me a little love.

Find it in your heart, to give me just a part of you

and I'll keep it safe within me.

Find it in you, to love me just a fraction

of what I love you

and I'll love you even more.

Find something for me to keep going

and I will..

breathe you back to life

Find me knocking at your door

and open it wide,

take me in.

Find a reason to surprise me

and take my breath away

and then watch me take away yours.

Make me a memory, something to remember

long after you've gone

because I need those memories, to keep me going

.. I feel forlorn

Make a way

to come to me

and I'll crash into you baby.

Let me crash into you.

Mistake.

The more I think about it,the more I realize how people of this universe were wired to make the others doubt themselves. Rarely will you stumble upon someone who boosts your self-esteem or does wonders for your ego. Mostly people like to leave you bruised and in a state of agony. Are we all sadists then? Is that it? We derive pleasure not from our happy lives but from the crappy lives of others?

I think not. Good people exist. Good guys exist. Goodness exists. Or so I like to believe. I live this life like I do, a pessimist the girl whose glass is always half empty, the girl whose learnt to take the fall from everyone, the girl who believes it's going to stay like that forever.. waiting for someone to change my opinion about it all.. waiting for someone to prove me wrong, not by words but by evidence.

Yes I repeatedly write out my emotions on public forums. Do I enjoy sympathy? Or am I a mockery to myself? Actually it's neither. I know, I know most people discard me as a sob story but don't you think it takes something to pour everything out into ink? To expose yourself, to make yourself even more vulnerable to the world? To tell the them your exact weaknesses and to give a part of your soul to someone unknown?

Yes, it does. I don't do it for the comments. I don't do it for the sympathy. I don't even do it for the understanding actually, because all the people I love and care about and all the people who love and care about me don't need my posts to understand me.

I do it because I feel that someone, somewhere reading what I write, can connect to it because they have either gone through the exact same thing or are going through it right now, right this second. And I want them to know, they're not the only one.

So no, my notes and my posts are not a waste; not of time, nor of space. And neither am I. I am not the product of a ruptured condom or an unwanted pregnancy. I was a planned baby. My parents wanted me, when they did. They raised me to be an extra-ordinary person. They believed in me, and in their rearing. They knew that some day I was going to be someone they would be proud of. Someday, I would make them smile. Someday.

How many of you out there have felt out of place at some point of time in life? Felt unwanted? Aren't you tired of measuring yourself upto what people think? Aren't you done, trying to please people at your expense? Aren't you tired of wearing those heels just so that he notices you? Aren't you tired of dieting just so that they don't laugh at you? Aren't you tired of being somebody else? Aren't you tired, yet?

Of waking up and putting a pretense every morning? Of disguising the real you under a garb? Of hiding your feelings and emotions because you're afraid someone will step on them again? Aren't you tired, yet?

A lot of people have contributed in making me feel like crap about myself. They have termed me fake, they have made me out to be some sort of a waste. So much so that I have trouble sleeping at night, and difficulty in facing the mirror sometimes. There's a nagging feeling of self loathing at times which I have difficulty in getting rid of. (more on this later)

Anyway, moving on, this is to all the people who made me feel useless and not good enough. This is to all those scars that they left on me, physical and emotional. This is to tell them that no, I was not a mistake. You may have chosen to leave me behind and move on, you may have termed me as whatever in your head just to sleep peacefully at night but no, I was never a mistake.

I was the best thing that could have ever happened to you.
And if you were, and remain to be to blind to see it then yes, you can call it all a facade or mistake. But you know it, and so does your heart, and finally so do I, that it was anything but a mistake. I was anything but a mistake.

..to write

It seems like I've been writing since forever now. It's just something that I do. Ever since I knew how to eat or sleep or walk, I guess it was my intrinsic instinct to write.

So welcome, to my world of writing. Welcome to my side of the story, the grey, the murky, the black. The half, the gone, the empty. The downside, the negative, the downhill. See things how a pessimist sees them, read the unsaid and the unspoken. The reasons, the motion, the fluidity, the actions, the consequences. The feelings, the emotions, the hurt, the pain. The laughter, the high, the smiles, the ecstasy. Different proportions, different magnitudes.

All me.

Welcome to the dark side.