I Confess, I Cheated

Do you know what it's like to cheat on someone? Someone you love very much? Someone who has done so much for you, someone who's presence is why you still exist and have some pride in yourself, some self-worth?
One day, everything seems perfect, like you have everything you'll ever need from anyone and the next, you have slipped on the (w)hoary edges and fallen into the icy depths of faithlessness. 


You know it's wrong and the first few times you even try to stop. The guilt eats into your very soul invading your every thought, every action. You can't stop thinking about all the good times you have had, the kind gestures, the joy and the comfort of just having someone to call your own. You can't stop evaluating if it's worth it, if it's worth giving all that up for a few moments of pure pleasure. But once you start, you can't but go on until thoughts cease to exist and only ecstasy prevails. 


But they say, acceptance is the first step to cure. 
I confess, I cheated.


I am married to Words and I cheated. 


It was just one time, one action. I had even forgotten the Pinterest password. I did not even have an account on Instagram or weheartit. I pooh-poohed their advances and used them for my convenience. I used them all to make Words happy. I made Words meet them too, in hope that every time I feel like slipping, I will remember the scene of both of them together and be assured of who was better. 


But alas, they did catch up with me; they lured me in with the indescribable beauty they radiate, a beauty that the secret, crappy photographer in me lusted after. They made me their unchained slave, they brought me to my knees and do their bidding without so much as a bad internet connection... so much as 300 repins in a day. I became a junkie, I was out of control. Looking at beautiful photos from all over the world, funny quotes and out-of-this-world food porn till my battery drained out. No amount of control could stop me from getting out of bed without atleast 20 repins from Pinterest. I craved for Instagram's attention; I started taking pictures like a maniac on weed, JUST to impress her. I even pinned and hearted at the same time. 


Words never said a word. I'm sure he knew, which only made it worse. Slowly, I started making excuses to Words. I said, "I am busy with assignments, I need time to sort things out." Then I started outright lying, "I don't like your new interface, there is a general lull, none of my friends are here anyway." He still never said anything. Every time I opened Blogger, I felt the acidic guilt and the painful sadness of a relationship once cherished. And every time I turned away and went back, coward that I was.


Today, I scrolled down my baby with no intention of posting anything, when the archives' count caught my attention and screamed out at me all the abuses that Words refused to say to me. Words always kept faith in my love, never asked for anything in return. And somehow, like a bolt of lightning, sense prevailed while I realized where my true loyalties lie.


I might slip, I might fall. 
I might even go several miles on the wrong path. 
But I will always come back to you, my love.
For I'm married to you.
And I married you for a reason.


I'm sorry for all the hurt.
I promise to write and make it go away.
I promise to make it up to you any way I need to.
For I know you deserve much better.


I love you, Words.
Always did. Always will.


P.S: This was whimsical, to say the least :D
P.P.S: I know a picture says a 1000 words but without those words how does the picture intend to convey it's beauty to all and sundry? I became a picture junkie for a while but now I'm back where I belong :)
P.P.S.S: This is one way of making it up to Words, not using any pictures for the post :P

Me. An Average Indian.

The alarm goes off and, instinctively, I hit snooze. Few more minutes of my time are not going to make a difference in Suresh Sir’s life, is it? His client can wait, I need my beauty sleep.

I brush my teeth and my half closed eyes catch sight of the price on the paste carton. WHAT?! My mind awakens instantly, HE CHARGED ME THREE WHOLE RUPEES OVER THE MRP?! How dare he, I’m never shopping there again. And then I feel a lapse inside myself as I think whatever, it’s just three rupees, what value does it have these days, anyway. Plus, the shop is so convenient….

As I make the coffee, I throw the banana peel into dustbin…. Curse, when it missed it by a few inches. Ah well, the maid will come in soon, it’s her job anyway.

The milkman calls out. I go outside to get my milk, absent mindedly throwing the dirty water in the vessel on the neighbor’s wall. Oops, she just whitewashed it… maybe she won’t notice.

I smell the fresh newsprint, like I always do, and sip the bitter brew while scanning the headlines. “BABY FALAK DIES OF CARDIAC ARREST”. My eyes moisten for a second, I’d been following the story for some time now. No human being deserves what was done to her… much less a baby, I thought.  I read the rest of the story on page 10…. The advertisement on the side caught my eye. “NEW FOR OLD OFFER”. My thoughts wander…. maybe I should exchange my old laptop and the mixer for that new Inspiron I saw the other day… So sleek, so cool it was… Maybe…

Local elections are on; I snigger at the uselessness of the whole system and wonder where my Voter’s ID is. I proudly proclaim to all and sundry that I don’t vote. What’s the point? Nothing’s going to change.

I dress and head out, I’m already late. I curse the lights for turning red at that precise moment and tap my foot impatiently on the kerb. The boy comes to me with wide, brown eyes and a dirty, dirty face. He has the face of a golden retriever with honesty, cuteness and helpless abandon writ all over him. My will hiccups as I pull out a ten-rupee note... he looks like he should be my niece’s classmate. Which reminds me, I HAVE to get her that HP limited edition set she’s been begging for since January…. Doesn’t matter if it costs half my salary, she is my princess, who else will spoil her?

I huff into my office and snap at the attendant for delaying the lift. He bows his head and mutters an apology. So what if he can’t walk? He’s paid to operate the lifts, he can do at least that efficiently. Loafer, kahin ka.

I start getting calls almost as soon as I log in. I put my headset on Good morning, this is xxx customer care, how may I help you? I deliver in my best chirpy voice. The customer is having trouble checking his balance and I wonder what rock he lives under to not know even that much in this day and age. I check records, he lives in Vanaprastha Home. Ugh, why don’t his children take care of him? At least I won’t have stupid old men asking me foolish questions first thing in the morning.

I saunter in after my long, lazy lunch. Though I wish I hadn’t taken Sumeeta with me; thanks to her I spent the better part of three hours listening to how her baby’s smile was magical.
The boss isn’t in yet. There’s a commotion outside his office. I walk up to Arjun’s cabin and ask what’s going on. Suresh Bansal had a heart attack early in the morning, he is stable now but under observation.

Involuntarily, my mind thinks will they give us a day off?!! I shake off the hope and tch, tch with the rest.

Payday! I pack my bag at 5 hoping the TL will let me leave early and check my account to find the salary credited. Wooohooooo! Shopping spree. My board lights up but I ignore them, say I’m done. White lies don’t matter..... everybody lies anyway.

I reach home with a lighter wallet but a happy heart. The neighbours were fighting again. I heard her scream once and everything was silent. Who am I to interfere, I think. Their domestic issues.

I cook and I eat in candle light, thinking about the day. I can’t finish the bowl of rice and I walk out to the overflowing street dustbins. The stray looks at me with longing eyes; wagging his pitiful tail. The action makes his bones stick out even more. Ugh, such a dirty animal. If I feed him now, he’ll expect the same every day. I dump the bowl into the dustbin and shoo him away.

I do the laundry, I brush my teeth and I fall asleep.

---

I am an average Indian. I live in a Metropolitan city. I eat. I live.

I tch, tch about an honor killing, like/share a Facebook page and lend my support by posting a picture of me in a black dress to proclaim my protest.

I love my own religion, all other Gods are irrelevant.
I love my own State, every other State and its people are backward, dirty and talk funny.

I will isolate that ‘loose’ girl even if I have secretly spent nights in my boyfriend’s apartment.

I refuse to do any work that is beyond the scope of my duties, I refuse to help others even if it is within my ability. What if it rebounds on me?

I will call Keenan and Reuben stupid inwardly for interfering unnecessarily. I will say the rape victim got what she deserved.

I am indifferent.

To everything that doesn’t affect me directly.

To everyone I have no reason to care about.

from dweebness.wordpress.com

It’s time to change. 

 http://ohmenver.tumblr.com/post/12916269499

This might be just another post for a contest on Indiblogger.  And yes, I do have my eyes set on the prizes, as well (proving that, well, I'm every bit as indifferent as portrayed). But the sentiment is one that I have been wanting to voice for some time now. Thank you, Stayfree India, for prodding me into posting this. 

If this makes even one person take that little extra effort to feed a dog with leftovers or contribute ten rupees to a child's education or vote compulsorily at the next elections, rather than being indifferent, I shall consider the post to have been a quality addition to my life.

The views expressed in the post are my own and I take full responsibility for them. It is not my intention to hurt any sentiments, feel free to disagree. But do allow me to exercise my freedom of thought, opinion and speech.

The Park Bench

It was a dark night, darkest one in December yet. The icy wind made her teeth chatter as she stuffed her cold fingers into her sweater and picked up the pace.

A delicious steak dinner with home-made apple sauce had made Sandeep a happy man, he was already buried knee-deep in his papers, with the patch-work quilt she’d given him for last Christmas keeping him toasty warm. His midnight cocoa was already in the microwave.

She did her duties well and happily too; least she could do for the man she loved with her whole heart, for the man who was her husband.
For the man who was there for her when she needed him, who had centered his world around her and made her feel like his Queen.

He sometimes came with her on her nightly walks, but more often let her go alone for he understood long back how much she craved the solitude of the walk down an empty street. 


She loved the dim street lamps strewing erratic lights in her path, they cast dancing shadows as she moved… how she loved the half an hour on the park bench where she sat, arms crossed, eyes closed and breathing in the crisp scent of the night. The sounds fascinated her too, the chirp of the busy cricket, the croak of the frog that lost his way, the silent hoot of the owl just before it snapped up the mouse between its razor-sharp beak.

That half hour was Her Time. And nothing ever got in the way, not work, not exhaustion, not parties, not nothing. It was then that she made peace with the day gone by, however good or bad the Universe had been to her.

But today peace was not what she strove for.
A phone call had stirred up her life.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

Silence. She struggled to collect her thoughts.

“Hi, Sabal. Long time, no hear?”

“Yeah, life happened... or something...” She heard the smile in his voice.

“Ah well, how is it going? What have you been upto?” 
She’d always tried to keep it cordial after they’d broken up. She had never wanted to be like one of those couples which had a happy, memorable run, broke up and then never stopped bitching about each other.

“Good, good… Nothing much. The usual. I have come back to India for good. True blue Indian, I am now.”

“Oh good, I was tired of you complaining about Muscat last time you called, actually. You’re in Bangalore?”

“Yes. Whitefields. Bought a house, mum is here with me.”

“Oh my, look at you all grown up!” she teased.

“Ah well… Listen, I called you because…”

“Yeah…?” she asked, almost tentatively. She hoped fervently that he wouldn’t start with the ‘come back to me’ routine. It had been so long, yet he never seemed to give up.

“I’m getting married.”

Her breath left her body in a surprising whoosh of relief. Relief, not at not having to refuse yet again, but relief that he was getting hitched. Finally.

“Wow. Who? What? When? How? Why?” she didn’t mask her delight. “And sorry, congratulations!” She added with a smile.

He seemed a little chagrined when he replied, maybe he had been hoping for a different reaction?

“Her name is Maithili. She’s from work. Mum liked her. It’ll be small. On the 29^th. At the cathedral. No reception.”

“…. Wait a second… from work? Aunty liked her? As in this wasn’t arranged?”

“Erm… not really… ”

“Wow. I’m so happy for you, I really am,” she just could not keep the smile out of her voice.

“I know you are, which is why I wanted to tell you before you heard from the grapevine.”

“Thank you for that,” she said quietly.

“Chalo, I got to go see to some furniturewale who insist that I ordered a mammoth study that I have never seen in my life. You take care, alright? See you around.”

She giggled like a twelve-year old. 
“It’s funny to hear you’re being all grown-up. Anyway, congratulations once again. Buh-bye”

“Bye”.

And the conversation played on loop in her head all day.

Now, as she sat alone on the cold, hard bench, one that had become her companion during her rendezvous with her own inner self, her mind filled with memories.

They had been so young, so innocent. That first bitter-sweet sting of Cupid’s unmerciful arrow, sneaking all over the place to spend a few minutes alone, lying at home about extra classes after school, hiding scraps of paper from the teacher, 14-rupee cards on Valentines' and the key chains they got made with the other’s initials. Being leg-pulled by friends who secretly envied them for the dreamy smiles they exchanged during class, first butterflies, first nerves, first dates and first and (till then) only true love.

They had taken it very seriously, planned their whole life together right down to the color they’d paint their house. She didn’t want anything more than to be married to him and he’d kill himself before he’d even look at another girl.

But, like always, things had started falling apart by their second year together. He wanted a ‘homely’ girl, like his mother, who’d not question him, not be ‘modern’ in ways she didn’t even understand and questioned her even on things she considered as basic freedom.

And she, on the other hand, was a wild spirit, untamed and free, who chose to believe in what she experienced and live the way her beliefs dictated rather that what the society did. But she tried to change for him, tried hard considering he was the love of her life. She gave up everything she believed in and tried her best to fit in the ‘homely’ mold. She tried to get him to meet her halfway but he was too set in his ways. She struggled occasionally only making him hold on tighter.

Finally, the day came when love was just not enough. The sun rise saw her failing miserably at pretending to be what she was not. Pretending to be Miss Goody-Two-Shoes when all she wanted to do was do three shots of tequila and ride the fake bull at the bar. Pretending every day that her swollen eyes had nothing to do with tear-soaked pillows.

She broke free. And she broke them too. 
The most successful couple from school bit the dust.

He fought long and hard to get her back for once she was gone he realized what she’d meant to him. He swore to change for her, every time she chanced to pick up his calls, but she knew that people were born a certain way and if they tried to change, they’d only be miserable.

She told him it was over. That she’d moved on.
He said he’ll wait.

And he’d waited ten long years, saw her become successful at a profession he’d hated, saw her fall in love with another man who accepted the wild mare and never tried to hold her tight. He saw her walk with him down the aisle and have his child, never…. not once letting go of hope than she’d come back to him.

The guilt had eaten her alive every day, just a little bit. She felt that she’d been the cause for all the ill-luck in his life. She wished that he hadn’t fallen for her. She prayed every day that he’d meet somebody.

Because she was happy and he was not.

Now, she sighed as a small tear escaped the crinkle of her eye and dripped down to her now dormant dimple. A tear shed not for grief or pain. Not for a relationship lost nor for her failed first love. 

The tear was for peace. For closure.
For he’d finally gotten his happy ending.

Blast them..

Will they never leave Mumbai alone? Will innocent people die by the millions to serve terrorist purposes till the end of time? Is there no justice, no order, no law in this country, world?

My blood boils.

To see the carelessness in the onlookers faces, attitudes. To see the media making it a circus, as usual. To hear high-up officials make 'statements'. To watch passively and not be of any use. 

Tears well up when I think of all those who lost their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, friends, lovers. Of the ones who fought before they parted ways, never to get the chance to make up again, to say that they loved and cared.
They could have been any one of ours. Easily.


Is that all the value there is for human life?
The worst part? Next time this week, life will go on as usual, leaving the bereaved behind in their sorrow, after all the bytes have been squeezed from them.

R.I.P to all those souls.
I will pray that you are avenged.
In my helplessness, that is all I can do.

Note: Three blasts ripped through Bombay at around 6.30 in the evening in Dadar, Opera House and Zaveri Bazaar of what has been confirmed as terrorist attacks.