Glasses and I

I wonder what my glasses see that I do not notice.
•
Today I saw two people enjoying the Delhi summer/fall night, lying on the ground. In that moment, all the sky was theirs to see and all the earth was theirs to rest on.
Maybe the next moment, the city dolour would creep up on them. I hope it didn’t. I hope it doesn’t. •
I’ve gone through a couple of glasses since I started needing them. Some broke on me, some didn’t fit me well with time and some got too heavy after a while. Most of them are with me in their boxes, in a drawer that I keep opening.
Maybe the same goes with people I’ve met in my life.
Somedays I hope I helped you notice things you never noticed, other days I wish I stayed in my box. Most days, I’m happy you keep me in your drawer somewhere, still existing. •

Me

It took me years to find Love within myself; from growing up depending on my big brothers for friendship I never found with my peers, to latching onto relationships that — I thought at that time — fulfilled me.
•
“You look just like your Dad. If only you look like your mom you’d be prettier.”
“You look just like your aunty. Gain some more weight.”
“You have the gummy smile that your Dad has.”
“You haven’t grown any taller still?”
•
What are seemingly just normal remarks in everyday conversations affected me to the point that in my late teens, I hated everything about myself.
I did not like my face, so I grew my hair and hid behind it. I did not like my gummy ugly smile so I laughed a little less, tried to smile pretty. I felt little and short, so I walked painfully in heels.

Looking back, I cry and hurt at how unkind I was to myself. I was filled with bitterness over things I have no control over.

I punished myself for just being who I am. These days, I do it a lot less. I’m a lot kinder to myself. I cut my hair and love how it looks, I wear flats and shoes I love, and I smile the biggest smile when a picture is taken.
•
Sometimes I tell a friend, “It hurts”
“What hurts?”
“Life and loneliness and everything in between”
•
This dialogue happens only on bad nights, when I find myself longing for something or someone that will make me happy. I know this happiness is temporary, and this want for it, extremely unhealthy. 
On better nights, I am happy with myself, and all that I am: body and mind, joy and grief, anger and compassion, mistakes and forgiveness. I am so proud of how far the little girl at first grade, who got lost in town because her friend left her behind, has travelled to find her way back home.

Plastic Trees

I am not my mother. 

Precious flower

Living by the river

Tending to her plants

Making them flower.

Sitting below her trees

Singing to their fruits.

I am plastic bags

And polluted lungs.

Failed attempts

Desperate actions

Zero effects 

Reusable bags

Forgotten plastic straws

She will not be. 

Earth, Birth.

In pain, in vain. 

Carbon printing

As we lie waiting

Living while dying.

Another Metro Ride

I was taking a long journey back home from South Delhi to North Delhi, through the Delhi metro transport. I walk in to the women's compartment — because like most days, I am travelling alone — and I see a rare sight. A security dog is lying on the floor with a red lead around him that tells me that the sweet doggo is Honey. The partner stands next to Honey and tries to ignore the different types of looks his partner is getting from the women around. Honey is so calm, so used to riding the metro and the bustle of the people around. People do not get close to them, but a mother and daughter gets on, and they adore Honey. They cannot keep their eyes and smiles to themselves. I smile back. I wonder if Honey likes working, I wonder if honey would want to be a doggy child to a nice loving family. When Honey gets off the train, I wish Honey a nice loving home when retirement comes close.

I see a lady step on a girl's feet, who I overheard talking about TikTok, and it is the most genuine apology I have witnessed in weeks. The girl tries to not appear upset. Minutes later, TikTok girl steps on someone else's shoes, she apologises, but the lady dusts off the dirt from her good looking black flats and get off the train.

Some college girls get on the train, and one of them, with a backless dress stands in front of me. I notice the little hairs on her back grow in unison, in the direction that leaves grow in. Beautiful, I think to myself. Nature, I think, how lovely.

On another station, a family of four gets on. I can tell that the Mother, Father and the little sister are blind. The little boy has a fedora hat on, and he looks like he could be about five years of age. He is carrying a bag that is much too heavy for him, and I want to lean in, hold his hand and tell him that he bears so much weight for his family. I want to hug him and his heart while he looks on attentively at the indicator that shows him where the train is. But I don't. Why does showing emotion seem so foreign in a place like this. He looks at me with his bright innocent eyes and I smile at him, and he shyly smiles. In that moment, that was enough.

Conversations and Feeling Alone

I know the title of this blog post seems a bit contradictory, but allow me to explain and preface the whole thing.

A friend, yes you are one — I am smiling while I recall our conversation on friendship, and I hope to have many more with you — That was a tangent but what I was trying to write was that, my friend and I were having good conversation over tea (as do all great conversations), and I recounted to her the times when I feel the most lonely.

When I find good music and I have this urge to share this new found gem of happiness, but I can not think of anyone to share it with; or rather someone who I know will appreciate it the same way I do and pass the happiness on.

When I find a cute video or a hilarious one, an epic meme or the most sarcastic comment on reddit, and I realize that when I hit the share button, there is no one else.

The whole point from this is that I find joy in sharing happiness with people who can 'relate'. I guess that translates to many things; wanting to be understood, finding/having people of your 'tribe' (as the millennials say) or just having that one friend who you can call at 2 a.m. while you are crying your eyeballs out just because you are going through a very bad case of 'synopsis psychosis'.

Here I am, typing on my computer after going through half a roll of tissue paper, because ... I really do not know. I love that I can write my feelings down but I find myself wishing that this could instead be an honest conversation with someone, with zero awkwardness. This sounds like I'm complaining. I really am not. I have friends. I love them. I'll be okay. Please don't worry.

Text me if you want to talk over tea?

In the meantime, I am leaving links to some good music I've been listening to. <3

The Japanese House - Saw You in a Dream
Yeah Right - a cover by geiko

Kodaline - Angel

Egoism - Sorry

Billie Eilish - When the Party's Over

Changes (a cover)