Emotionally unavailable.

“What sort of a man makes love to one woman and goes back to negotiate a dead relationship with another?” The sort that is so beyond knowing the meaning of love.
She thought he was secure, confident, intelligent, clear. When he spoke to her for the first time, she thought, “This man has character”. And now she was realising how wrong she had been.
When she learnt that he was capable of grovelling the way he was, she lost all respect, love and admiration for him. Just like that. In an instant.
“You talk of high ideals, high standards, high goals. You have none. You aren’t even sure of yourself. You don’t even know if you’re worthy of the standards you’ve set for yourself. And you complain. About life, about events, about how things never went your way. You aren’t a man. Not even close,” she said to him, eyes filled with fury.
He looked at her, surprised, taken aback, shocked that this girl, who had said she loved him, had turned against him with such vigour.
And then it hit her, she was worth more than this. And she left, silently, walking into the darkness, smiling to herself…

Unforgettable, that’s what you are
Unforgettable though near or far
Like a song of love that clings to me
How the thought of you does things to me
Never before has someone been more

Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that’s how you’ll stay
That’s why, darling, its incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too

I remembered “our song”. Hold me, Thrill me, Kiss me. It wasn’t really our song, we forced it I think. We forced a lot of things. I think I forced less though, I think I loved more, felt more, cared more, he took care of me, for the most part. And which woman doesn’t want to be rescued? He rescued me from all things evil, from situations at home I didn’t like. From people who I believed hated me.

Then I grew up. I realized my own shortcomings. I realized I wasn’t a victim. That I was just being silly, that I was ok. You can’t love another till you’re okay within yourself. THAT I’ve realized. Only two whole people can love another completely, love isn’t meant to complete two incompletes. That’s probably the biggest lie sold to us in songs, movies and cards…that love fills us, completes us, makes us whole. Codependence. Boy, it sells. It’s not the same as symbiosis, for those who are wondering. It’s like two parasites coming together, trying to feed off each other. Quite unnatural, quite hopeless, quite temporary, a disaster waiting to happen.

Bad timing. It was all about bad timing.

I don’t have to pretend to be older, wiser, more mature. I don’t have to act like I want to socialize with people who can’t hold my interest for more than 10 minutes. I get to be a child. I get to be silly. I get to be me and you get to be you. I don’t need to pose. I hate posing. I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime. I don’t need to impress, I don’t need to show you my better side. I only need to love, love completely, feel without worrying or thinking twice about whether I’m feeling too much :-).

I've stopped worrying, being scared. Life fits.

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Ecclesiastes

"Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God."

I strayed for a while, from things that meant the most to me. I don’t know why or how or when or what for… I wish I could take it all back. Undo. Unfall. I can’t, I suppose.

The monsoons are finally here. Much-awaited. Bangalore looks clean. Washed. The roads are wet, there’s mush everywhere, but there’s an air of happiness that transcends all else. A new season, a new chapter :)

I smiled at random people today on my way to work. They smiled back, fortunately, acknowledging my act of casual human-contact. The rick driver was courteous for a change, thanked me for the tip I gave him.

And now, I want coffee at Barista. I want hot coffee, cold chocolate, muffins and a friend’s company!! I think though, that Cha Bar might be a better idea today. And there’s a Punjabi food festival at work. Right! Like they’ll make Sarson ka Saag and Makki ki Roti! They probably don’t know what that is!! Oooooooohh…I remember winter afternoons at Adampur, when we sat out on the lawns for lunch!! *siggghhh* I miss it all so much!!

I finally found my muse. A muse for the wrong reasons, at the wrong time, in a wrong sort of a way. I never thought I needed one till I met you a few months ago, my desire to write conveniently quadrupled after that day. And now I need you. Oh! How I hate that I need you!! How I love that I need someone, finally!

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

-Rudyard Kipling

I was 14 I think, when I read Kim, also by Rudyard Kipling. I remember the day I picked it up from the library, sitting next to my schooltime boyfriend:) I remember so vividly, his reaction. How was I moving from Agatha Christies and Nancy Drews. He said something to me about having too much time on my hands. And how right he was. I read the strangest, most irrelevant and (maybe) useless books. I enjoyed it.

Having too much time on my hands has been the story of my life! I’m lazy and I can’t pretend I’m not, but I hate having nothing to do for more than an hour. Weekends are busy, but weekdays aren’t. Work is slow. The bright side is, I get time to do what I love, to write. To write, other than what work expects of me.
If someone had told me, at 16, that I would be a journalist, I would not have believed them. My English Lit teacher did tell me once, that I should make it my profession. And that’s when I started writing recreationally. I stopped caring who I wrote to or what I wrote about. I just wrote. I never imagined, though, that I would get paid to write. I never thought of myself as a writer, I still don’t.

Recently, at dinner with a friend, I told her of my plans to choose a new career path. That I was bored and that I thought I could do much better. That I wasn’t using my head, and I didn’t feel productive. I love numbers and I love words, words more than numbers, and work is the perfect blend. The problem is I don’t get to be creative, at all. I get to be creative here, and elsewhere, never ever at work :)

I still believe my calling is to teach little children. I don’t know when I’ll get to do that, maybe after I’ve had my fill of corporate mania, after I’ve worn my glasses long enough, watched enough CNBC, talked mergers and acquisitions over dinner for years, stared at tickers and stock moves on my three screens for hours on end, played the stock market for a while, and managed to make an impact of my own. Maybe then I’ll teach babies how to count and read and write and spell and subtract.

I find it hard to believe that this is what I want to do, I can’t imagine myself with a hoard of little children running wild, but my heart says that’s where I’d be happiest.

For now, I’m content. I want more, but I’m content.

I want to write to change the world.
I want to influence people in a good way.
I want to feel my hand in yours :)
I want to know if you smile at random people when you pass them
I want to see you smiling at me
I want to see you doing what you do best
I want to learn to lose gracefully,
I want to watch you win everything you are meant to
I want you to be happy ..no..not happy..overjoyed!
I want to sleep, and wake up in manic good moods :)
I want to learn new things, breathe new air,
I want to love unconditionally, selflessly and completely,
I want to play safe and risk everything,
I want to be impatient and wait forever...

I walked this morning. Early. So that I would be awake with you. So that you would know that my every prayer is with you today.
It wasn’t warm, it was so not warm. It was pleasant. Like it used to be in Second year. In Second year when I waked 9 kilometers every morning. To MG road, down to the Taj, around Ulsoor and then home. In Second year, when determination coursed through me, when I had only one goal. In Second year, when I learnt to live and to love. When I learnt about things that mattered and about growing up. Second year, that began with getting to know someone and ended with knowing them fully. A year of big choices and big fights. A year of tears and of laughter without boundaries. A manic year. A year of differences and similarities, a year of moving forward and holding on.
And now… my first year, at work, at independence, at understanding myself. My first year of knowing you. Of wanting to become one with you. My first year of knowing that I'm finally on the right path.
"The Lord bless you, and keep you;
The Lord make His face shine on you,
And be gracious to you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace." Numbers 6:24-26