On being circumstantially left out

In the course of our lifetime “feeling” is something we never cease to do. Behaviors change but realizations or the road which a person seeks in its course, seldom does. However, most of the feelings we feel are only the giants of the industry, namely, joy, grief, guilt, relief, content, excited and so forth. And like in any industrial setting the giants of our mind often supersede the little ones; takeover and mergers are common here as well. One such feeling that I realized I walk past every now and then is the feeling of being left out. We tend to confuse feeling left out as missing out, feeling blue and ending up with one of the leaders in the business, sadness. But I guess its a little more than that. We feel left out more often than we actually think we do, from situations which range from office parties to someone else’s life. And although mostly we blame it on ourselves, for something we might have done or had someone react to. There is one other kind as well. Being circumstantially left out.

Yes! Circumstances, course of events, fate or just because its not meant to be at that particular period of time. I think that this feeling of being circumstantially left out should be playing the majors in the emotion league as well. Here is how i feel it turns out to be. Although to start with, the situations that propel this particular feeling do not appear to be major threats, they usually turn out of events that assure your inclusion in a distant time period and thus give you the illusion of the most “not ok” thought of all—-“its ok”. You go about with it accepting the situation as it is when suddenly two very easy words join together to form one of the most difficult phrases to tackle, “what” and “if”. And that’s when it hits you, and it hits you hard. You start to think of what you would have done and how you would have done it, had you been there. It strikes you that the moment or the people involved want you to be their but your circumstances force them to leave you out of it. And no matter how you try , no matter how much you tell yourself , Its NOT OK. It never will be. Events which act as a stimulus to this sudden “katrina” in your mind may be anything, it might be a quiz that your old partner might be participating in and for the first time you are not their to fight with him for the answer, your parents anniversary with you being away, a friends live show and you missing it, it can be the most simplest yet most intrinsic of subjects. Your mind starts to wonder, you close your eyes and picture yourself sitting beside, holding the camera or standing in the front row and smiling up to the stage and the illusion of a merry event never saddens you more. And things are made worse by the best of efforts; when the people on the other side try their best to make you feel “being there”. The photos, the videos, the memoirs. You know that’s the best you can get, the best they can give you, the best your circumstance can offer, but the war is tough and you almost never win it. You end up beating yourself up, mauling your situation, hating your imagination for not being real. In short, you lose it for a while only for it to come back again.

But not all is dull and I believe in fairy tails, thus happy endings are kind of a natural. I feel this circumstances no matter how much you hate them, no matter how much I hate them, do bear a promise as well, it is because the word circumstance, in itself bears a temporal sense i.e. it bears the promise of change and that bit is something you can control. Its effect is huge but only for the moment. You are left out but not left behind, and that right there is my silver lining. You are in a race, the situations that you so want to be a part ,although might be ahead of you in this laps, but you can always catch if you have your eye set on the finish line. The quiz you might have missed, you could have it again, just turn your situation towards the same quiz club, the anniversary you missed, take the oath of making it bigger and being there the next time, the performance that might have gone on without you make sure it does not start without you the next time those lights flash and that sound check occurs. Because the best part is the people who sadly form the subject of you feeling left out are the ones who want you to be a part of it the most, and believe it or not that’s your sword and armor. The moment you start believing in this abstract reality, you know you have just picked up a nitrous and your wheels will be above the road in no time. Then what ? Finish the race off in style and show your circumstances the finger and salute them off to the horizon of the past.

Sadly enough though , I do not have any solution or advice to help you with it, because clearly I am scraping through the same pavement as you are, otherwise I would not have been writing this post. I wish you find your boost and find it soon enough, again, again and again till it works.

Cheers!!

P.S. I know there are people out their who are really good at making such situations work, which makes this post sound kind of personal. Well, then, I guess it is. lo

A letter of fiction

I recently came across a post on terribly tiny tales, which started with “Dear long distance lover”. And thus it made me think. We all talk, see, hear and live through love in forms more than one but how does distance really factor in “love”. Well although I ended up pretty much turning round a blind curve every now and  then, there are two more reasons as to why i decided on writing about it on my own terms.

1. Because I needed to break down the block I was going through

2. The title was just too good !!

And thus,

Dear long distance lover,

How’ve you been ? Well I choose to ask you this rather cliched opening question because I figured there might be a few things that you might have missed out or chosen to skip in those numerous whatsapp texts and skype sessions that we have shared. I have been fine, I have been well and more so i have been loved. And yes while I attribute a lot of it to you sadly enough I have to share that bit with my parents and siblings too.

The best part about being in love and sharing a huge distance is that we have so much to talk about, its like we have two different worlds that come together through the header, “you know what happened today?”. We smile, we cry, we complaint, we fight but there is a screen that separates us through all of it. Now that’s just sad , as all those moments just make me wish even more, a wish that can come true with time and time only and you know how impatient I can get. He he !! Yes you know me , don’t you ? I think you are THE “farthest” person who knows me so much better even than those who appear “near”. Well i guess not all ironies are morose. That’s hope you have right there.

Do you remember the first time we met ? It was a blessed dusk, the birds flew over the big lake in the south of our city creating rippled shadows like dots on a canvas waiting to be joined into a piece of art. We were nervous weren’t we ? I remember rehearsing all those words in my mind all the while on what to say next but all I could manage was an occasional jittery giggle or a rather nervous “Ok. acha ok”. I remember you wore that white kurti that day, the one you proudly proclaimed to be a fabric from Lucknow, I had no idea what you were talking about but all I believed was that it was one lucky piece of fabric to get the opportunity to be wrapped around you like that ! I remember a lot more than that too, i guess. I think the farther you get , the more you realize on how important memories are and that they are actually made everyday from the faintest and simplest of incidents.

The windchime still makes that light tingle of a sound, the one you had gifted me on “our” day telling me no matter how far we stay the tings and tongs would always be as sweet as our conversations. Infact , I am wearing that t-shirt you sent me over because once I happened to say on how I missed your smell,however it just gives the illusion of your fragrance now. I blame the detergents !! There is one more thing i figured about being distantly in love, and that is, we talk a lot more about what will happen than what is happening, the future is a much believable perspective than the present and if you ask me i would tell you that its just the tricks of the trade.

You know there is yet another thing that i discovered, Distance runs in cycles. It neither stays nor leaves your back that easy. Its been 70 years of me being in love with you of which you were or should i say have been, away for 40 of it. We did get to the future we spoke about all the time, the one where we would stay together, have a family, make people around us so happy and keep each other in each other’s arms but we missed this bit out and I blame you. You knew I was an Epicurean and you being the Plato should have reminded me of it. You should have told me that just like the job offer after your masters degree , life would come calling and once again this relationship had to live off “long distance” and that too a really long one. That one day you would leave without leaving me your whatsapp contact, without giving your skype id, that one day that couch will be all mine to lie down in and I would no longer have to fight with you for a cushion and most of all ,without even giving me a hint. This hit me hard until the day you called me from behind the screen of night and told me that you were doing fine, that your “flat mates” were good people, that you missed me and looked forward to seeing me soon. It was skype all over again just the screen was much bigger than my laptop’s. I have learnt to live with it just like when we started dating, here is how i spend my days now. My eyes open to your smile lying within a frame on my desk, I drink my milk, I kiss our grand children off to school!! They have turned out as good kids you see. Who am I kidding, ofcourse you do!. I come back and read through the newspaper as I am called on for lunch, after lunch I sit with some of our photos and letters from our days, scroll through whatsapp, I never manage to go real far up as my fingers start to hurt, then I lie down and skype you once again. At night I put the kids off to bed, come into my room , change the kurta and wear your tshirt and go off to sleep.

But like any other long distance relationship, its getting a bit difficult these days, age seems like a linchpin in the dominoes when it comes to maintaining a long distance relationship. Just yesterday I had to go through an emergency album viewing session. Lately, I remember all my memories but the faces are getting blur. And that scared me so much. It still does. I had a long skype session with you a couple of days back, our daughter said that they got scared, I was given a very comfortable bed in a hospital for that session, and I could swear I felt your palm on mine. After that day I am not really sad anymore, although I doubt our children know something about me that i don’t. I think they know that its time I moved. I know it makes them sad but to be honest it makes me really happy because they have all their promises left to keep and they must do so, on the other hand I have just one more left and the feeling that its going to happen soon fills me with calm, the promise of our “pincodes and timezones being same”, once and for all.

Signing off and see you really soon.

With love

Your long distance lover.

17.2.2170

The thing about love.

Original post date on blogspot : 22/02/2016

 

The thing behind the first word. The thing about the first smile. The thing about the first miracle. The thing about the first sight. The thing about the first fight . The thing around the first wink. The thing about the first letter. The thing behind the first secret, the thing behind sharing it the first time. The thing about the first tear, the thing behind the first palm to wipe it away. The thing about pulling through. The thing about the first walk to the park, the first walk through the park. The thing about the first flower and the first wilt. The thing about holding a finger, to holding a hand, to wrapping round a palm and also joining ones both in a prayer. The thing about knowing that it almost never ends up to be the “first” of everything every time, In short, the thing, about love.

Love is that miracle that helps us be. The feeling behind our first breath, the feeling behind our first cry and also the feeling on our mothers little finger, tight, for the very first time, It brings us this world of ours, helps us grow with it, through it , while it enjoys a seat in the bench and only comes in as the super sub when we cry for help (and not everytime is it heard). A parents love knows no bound, it is biased, loud, tough and binds us like a cloud round the summer sun , it gets denser, the more it burns and then drains itself out , only to put it to rest for a while. We learn our first words and use the rest on them, they smile. We bring down all our wrath on them, they soothe. We cry our sorrows out to them, they strengthen while breaking down inside. They lay their palms with petals of roses for us to walk on and have them pierced by as much thorns as they can. The thing about love to them is sacrifice —- with a smile.

The love of a sibling is perhaps the most confusing of all. They begin as arch enemies, and come to think of it , they prefer to stay that way. They will drag each other to the corner of the cliff but will still not let go. Even if they fall they fall together. Its the fear that counts. Hairs are pulled, notes are misplaced, study sessions are disrupted, slaps are thrown and even then the smallest of jokes are shared, the smallest of pancakes are eaten half, the biggest of hearts belong to the other, the strongest of supports are what they are to each other. A sibling always knows when the other is in trouble and draws out every possible hay from the stack to look for the needle and remove it. The elder one holds the hand of the little one forever and pulls him through no matter what. When the news of a heartbreak comes they are the first to quip, “i had told you so!!”, but the only one to sit beside and tell, “come on! as long as you are into people, everything is going out fine”, and the best part is, perhaps the only person in the world who means it. The first wake up call, the last goodnight wish, the first career solution and the first relationship mockery, they see it all, but the best part, they see you through it all.  Love of a sibling is unbearably unbearable yet a predilect without which your life remains a forever half portion.

Love for that special one  ( from a guys stand point) . It is something new, something unprecedented, something that hits you out of nowhere although you might have seen it coming and wanted it but you relish the mystery and suddenness of it. The first time you learn that seeing a person can actually give you goosebumps and make you want to be stupid by choice. The first time you know that the feeling of being complete is actually incomplete until you meet that very stranger you becomes your own to fulfill your own. The dream giver, she turns out to be the dew on the pebble that every bare feet looks for in the early morning field. The first time you feel like taking up a pen rather than your voice. The first time you stare without having the least bit of idea why you are doing so. The paradox of strange insight gulps you down and by the time you realize it you are deep in the abyss of “everythingness”. She becomes a part of you as much as you never were to yourself. You begin hitting the backspace more than the spacebar just to get those words out perfectly for her, to her and still feel like you should have gone for a “feel” check. She smiles anyway and that not just makes your day but gives you the arm to hold (or atleast dream of holding round, but that’s another story. lets not dim the lights) to make your entire world around it.

God claims all, sees all, loves all and yes seeks the love of all that ever was, ever is and ever will be. Love of God is a miracle, a miracle to show us light in forms old and new, in pictures, statues and shadows, in mysteries one would never see the end of, in arguments one would never wind and most of all in ways one would never measure. So we pray and we promise what we fail to often realize is nothing, not a stone turns out of a plan, and so our thoughts, they never really are our own, they are verses from names unknown, from places unknown just making their were through our heart to our actions.

So for the love of all there is to love and for the love of life lets not lose out on love and let love never lose out on us for its there from the cot we breath out first, to the laps and arms we breathe through and the shoulders on which we breathe our last..

Cheers !!

A ballad

A ballad

We all speak of love as being something of a fairy tale, a notion that gives our existence a storyline to grab on to. We all eagerly wait on for that very moment when we would feel it unanimously and fall into it at the time when we least expect it to be. But I think its the stories of love that once was are much more interesting than the love that we dream of. Love drawn in the canvas of the past. Our heart never breaks the moment love leaves, but instead it does so when we reminiscence of how it left, in short “you only know you were in love when you let it go”. Two people, complete strangers , hold hands in a moment that they dream of building their lives around. They fight as if all they will ever have to lose is each other. But what they fail to realize is that the fights are much harder in their own backyard than in the neighbourhood ahead. They become so perfect to each other that when the war approaches to their doorstep they find it hard to hold on to their horses. People fall in love all the time, but falling out of it is what it becomes all about. They promise of being with each other no matter how hard the road ahead may be but when the speed breaker approaches beneath their own feet, their hand slide down to the edge of their little fingers. Everything that once was neatly drawn out get draped by a pale of paint thrown recklessly onto it and all of it becomes a monotone. Compatibility, issues, cheats, faith , the objects that suffer the blame but what hides beneath the burkha is nothing but a lie , a lie that no human has ever been able to hide for long, the lie of knowing the other person. Canaries become vultures feeding on each others disappointments. In the crowd of “what”, “when”, “how” and “where” s , loses its way a very quite “why”. A single question that might just have been the perfect solution. They cry, they shout, they blame, they listen but they never ask. Forgiveness becomes a myth and along with it their story. They learn , to change. They force, to not be what they were or simply become what they had always been but had never wanted to be. Career sometimes shows a way out of such situations. Mirrors become their worst enemies, they can hide those drops from everyone but what happens when it comes to themselves ? Some sigh to think as to what went wrong ? Some cry to conventionally null their pains ? Some run, run as fast as they can, but in circles, and then become still with nothing left but a shivering pair of hands. The hands that wrapped around each other when they sat by the river bank and held each other tight failed to hold for one last time to make the other sit and just speak. In the torrential pour of the fights , speaking drenched and drained. Leaving two unknown souls, that knew each other more than they knew themselves in tatters. They say they learned, but did they? They say they stopped dreaming, but did they? What does it mean by moving on ? Where do they move on to ? How far can someone go once they move in into an apartment, called the heart ? Is this actually what it was all about ? The hands that once spread they never draw to a close, but also do not spread even wider. And that is where lies the tiny little thing called irony. To soothe is myth, to forgive is a sin, chances are risks and thus to forget is the only option.
But lets not lose hope. Lets dream of our lives to be like movies, lets keep wishing for the happily ever after ending, lets not lose out on love, not once, not twice not ever. Lets dream of finding it back even if we have lost it forever.
That’s all the optimism that you might find out me through this post.
To all the love in the world,
Wish you find strength to hold on.

Cheers!!

P.S. I know this came out pretty dark but hey! no ballads came out of successful love stories. Its the failures that write the sweetest songs.