Love...demons...

That was my valentine gift. Of Love and Other Demons by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Didn’t start reading though…slept of and saw demons in dreams. Still wondering what love and demons have in common? Both are fierce? Is that so? It was after a lot of cribbing that I finally managed to get a gift…but knowing me for what I am I guess the gift was not chosen badly. Basically, I never remember getting a gift for this day. Yes, I did…the red drowsy roses, me and aachi bought from Jose uncle’s shop once upon a time…no teddy bear loves, no candle light dinner.

Neither did I know that abnormalities waited for me in the path of love, where valentine’s was just another day when “Americans” actually showed love!!! And the Yamani version of it, when you love a person all through the year, what is the purpose of having a day to show love?

Yes, maybe it is the consumerism of today’s world that paved an extremely polished graveled highway to the market goers of today. In the most famous shopping mall of Bangalore, I saw its extremities. A crystal (Swarovski…I think) chain on his lover’s neck; the village lass turned city-gal: pointed heels on the potholed roads, eyes searching for someone who could hand over a rose and say, “Be my valentine!”

My heart was in the groove, I wanted a gift too. But then, when I saw that love was not anywhere around and what mattered was just “Oh! WOW! He got me a diamond!!!” I thought, it is better off in my case. I was happy eating Lebanese BBQ chicken and prawn fried rice, and laughing, as usual…Every day was Valentine’s Day…ahem…ahem!

what i felt from last night...

Sleeping is in the high priority list these days. And finally when I hit the bed, I feel, this is what I wanted to do my entire life. Last night was no great exception. I was trying hard to listen to him talking, but my eyes gave away…I was dazed into a world that snored away to glory. Then I dreamt of sweetened thick sugar syrup flowing…I was in the low-ceilinged room of his house that he described to me, He came to me and asked me to take bath before his amma came…what was the sugar syrup for then?

I woke up to find him cosied to himself, that sweet slumber and peaceful face. The newly trimmed short hair that fell on his forehead and the soft snore escaped through his nostrils. I got up, went up to the loo…switched on the light, wondering what the time was. My newly grown left finger nails that had a silver polish glistened as I turned the tap on.

Coming out, I checked the time in my mobile…5:30. Wondered whether I should go back to the room, that cold, some-smell filled room of mine. But I didn’t feel like leaving him then. I snuggled back into his arms. He mumbled something to me. I kissed him on his eyes, on his lips and softly told him that I loved him…

I kept waking up, at 6, 6:05…he pulled me back, put his hands and leg around me and said, “Don’t go now…” I smiled and lay back again. The sweet sugary syrup didn’t flow, but I saw myself walking down a lane, shaded with yellow leaved trees. I went walking, and then the alarm went off again.

I walked back to my hostel, my head was swinging slightly. I lie in my bed for a minute, I knew I was getting late for my office , but I just wanted to sleep again…

suicide note

I was listening to a song by Nirvana. Not that I listen to them always, just a particular liking for the song “where did you sleep last night…” It was a sway effect- the sound made me feel like dead, doped and disturbed…and once again, I fell in love with Kurt Cobain...

From there, I went to wikipedia, read about Cobain, his life, his love, his music, his guitar, his band, his suicide note…suicide notes…

Suicide Notes are written at that point of time, when one feels that the world needs to hear what one's saying before the final whiff of air! I have felt like writing a suicide note a lot of times. Never had the guts to "DO" the final act though. I have tried, but failed. For various reasons. For stupid tears, and unreasonable judgments passed in life.

What was bothering me, when I read it? Why did I tear off the suicide notes I had written? I had written three of them. Blaming everyone who made me feel lost, tired and depressed. I hated the world with the words I carelessly scribbled. When I put the blame on others, I quietly gulped down my mistakes. It didn’t matter to me anymore. The world meant nothing at that point. I wanted to keep it somewhere so that someone who sees my body would notice it.

The moment I knew that I have not succeeded in ending my life, I tore the papers into bits, scared that the world might put it back into pieces and know what went on in my mind. I ffeared being caught of my sins, that I joyfully put blame on the world. I feared being tortured because of it.

If at that point, my world would have scrambled like thermocol balls in a windy room, I wouldn’t have smiled today!