BombayviaBangalore

As of today I mope the concept of myself I have built and shed the skin of wanting closure from someone else. Once again I am led to the same old marble arched gateway of delusion. I fall and learn (again)that all that someone means to me may not be all that I mean to them. People have their own perspectives of how I fit into their lives, if I fit at all and I can't keep hoping that this will change.

Some goodbyes are one-sided, some letters never reach and some pain is best left in the dark. Every relationship is better than the last and I will look forward instead of digging my nails into the past.

Maybe just because I'm going through a crisis, with my sex and intimacy doesn't mean everyone I encounter will understand it or choose to be a part of it.

Just because something felt intense doesn't mean it was a good thing. When I'm with someone I like, I want to feel lighter, not heavier with romance.

Some intimate moments have a shelf life.

I don't want to let go of that part of me that writes a love letter just because I never get the closure I need. It's a part of my soul and if it gets lost in transit, so be it.

It's okay to delete the message after you sent it. If it's bringing me more anxiety than clarity, it doesn't deserve to be said.

In my dreams about the men I have loved, the only common aspect is how happy and content I seem. That's what I want to concentrate on. It's not about them, it's about how they make me feel.

If they make me feel small, abandoned, bitter - it's not right. I will stop myself from burrowing deeper.

May 18th 2020

Few things I realised over the past year:

- I feel guilty to lead someone on and it comes from a place where I'm constantly convinced about how dissapointed they will be in me.

- Some people need to have hard conversations in bed. I didn't know how hard they could/ can get - all I know is, I'm looking for acceptance more than satisfaction in bed (I want to change that)

- I was naive when I was younger and believed that pain and violence are crucial aspects to sex.

- Age is a number and I'm always going to fight the concept. It's going to be a long and hard fight.

- I'm not going to abandon people I had a good time with and I'm going to stop running to the self interests of a self absorbed few.

<From a recently concluded dream>

We were in the early ages of civilization; I, an onlooker from another dimension and they- mostly human, part fish - living by the sea; dependent on the water for food and only just beginning to understand the concept of society. They all seemed hairy, happy and one with the water, spending more than half the day at sea - kids frolicking, bare chested fishermen plunging to grab fish by their hands and the women cooking meat, churning the alcohol inside their huts by the beach- the kind of time travelling episode of Baywatch I'd sincerely watch.

Their civilization was booming but danger loomed ahead. Every once in a while they would wake up to pirates late in the night, huge ships plundering their ration, killing everyone in their way. The elders of the community decided it was time to have a plan in place everytime the pirates attacked. The best swimmers were trained to fight back, guards would line the shore and signal a loud ringing. The women and kids would be evacuated first and find their ways to their hiding spots/ underground camps until the battle lasted.

Until one day - something strange happened. The pirates made their way to the shore, throwing out burning daggers and firing canons. Just as the alarms rang and the best swimmers made their way into the water, a large creature erupted out of nowhere, capsizing the ship; it's tentacles whipping the pirates into chaos.

The army quickly ran to the shore themselves out of fear. They were prepared to fight unjust men but a huge 🐙 in the same water as their's? A sudden flash of territorial thought flooded them. And although the creature had just attacked their biggest nemesis, they didn't trust the massive octopus.

Over the next few months, the barbarian pirates attacked the sea people twice, only to face the giant octopus's wrath - it seemed to get angrier every single time, gaining the trust of those who lived by the sea. They'd found a friend, the single octupus army - an incarnation of the water god themselves.

The third time the pirate ship was capsized by the creature, the people rejoiced and took to the sea to pay their dues to their hero. The women danced all night and the octopus was brought to land, enshrined in jewellery, given buckets of lager to drink. The happy people rubbed their big slimy belly.

--

<The sea people can't hear the thoughts of the octopus but I can>

The Octopus makes no sound. The celebrations hold no meaning to them. They glide on the chair they place them on, buckets of water and lager poured on them every minute. Small kids slide from their tentacles, screaming with joy. They think to themselves - let them be fooled into thinking I am their's. I will groom them for years; let them thrive as a community till they burst at the seams with fish. I'll feed them for years. And then, I will eat them. One fine day.

I had a dream about you again. I was in an open school, by which I mean not only curriculum wise, but also a class held in the middle of a large clearing of urban slums. The skies and wind felt great despite the grim setting and the sun was out. My ex boss from Extentia was our facilitator, a role that suited her well even irl. She seemed to be taken by a man, deeply in love while also conducting the class. He had been invited to sit for the lecture as her students presented their ideas. I don't remember much but they were artistic.

And then I spotted you - a classmate had cleverly curated some photos from your Instagram feed to do a case study. I pointed at your many selfies/ shenanigans and told her its a small world. I took a photo to send to you, although we hadn't spoken in a long time. I tried to send you the message but got no time in between class and everyone's celebration after. I never send you that message. My ex boss comes to me and shows me a ring the man gave her - she was beaming at the small ivory-like mould. I always thought she was the big ass diamond kind. Funny.

Part 2

We seem to be sitting on a couch and deciding what to watch. Something about Gully Boy. Some blurry things happen. I touch your face which seems tanned in a gradient that goes from your pasty complexion on the forehead to my dark brown at the chin. Your chin appears to have sunk in, like old people. I tell you I like your tan. You say it was when you were travelling, that you missed me sometimes and were kind to those you met.

Part 3

You know I think of buying myself an education sometimes and going back to school, because I can? I'd be so much smarter and uniforms, psh, I'd go to the tailor knowing exactly what to tell him, how short my skirt needs to get, highlight my best spots. Back in the day I had no clue, I was just dressed like a salad- I guess I didn't love my body but NOW, things will be different. I'd be the hottest minx in fifth grade.. I'd do it all over again and so well.

My family whatsapp is buzzing every 2 minutes and my mother is literally calling as I write this. It is apparently, daughters day and Dad wants to fine dine.

I don't wish to meet or hear from anybody. I've been sitting in the darkness ever since the sun went down because who needs lights? I don't even want to smoke the joint I just rolled. I wonder what brought this feeling out - I tell myself, I hope its not the silly fuckboi. But I am more surprised that I don't know.

At the end, I start to cry a little. I know I'll go take a bath, meet my folks for dinner, come back, begin on the work that was meant to be done today and maybe I'll see some hope in some little thing and things will be fine again. I might even laugh.

(A la Sandra Ciscernos) You bring out the issues in me. The drawl of early morning moodswings. The lull of rooms, empty. The fear of not having anything to say next. The fear of saying them at the worst of times. You’re the only one I’d be honest with; lose you to the truth of not being enough. Hold me when I ask you to, You don’t hold me otherwise. Come, let’s have some wine. Make do. You bring out the uncouth in me. My inability to choose what to eat from a list of words I don’t understand. My lack of tastebuds, the disdain for cuisines. Not knowing how to pronounce ‘croissant’. I get nervous at the bar with you; I don’t know what Vermouth is but I live in the moment. I tell you that I generally drink what all autowallahs in India do; A simmered down version of phenyl and coke. You don’t judge me (thank you), but you don’t know where I come from either. You don’t, no, you don’t. You bring out the past in me. The pain and violence and heartbreak all at once. The need to satisfy you, the grim reality. I repeat the words you say and stay mum otherwise. You bring out the silence in me. The flashes of knowing what comes next; frustration and anger and shoving and then nothing. You ask me if its always this hard, and I don’t have an answer that ends well. I’ll leave you be for better endings.  I do.

Mumbai

On April 2nd 2019, Mu (name changed on request) screenshot-ted her way into a few minutes of tidal fame (i.e what the next gen calls 'virality within one's own circle - friends, family, followers') and chose quickly to never ride the wave again. Sources claim Mu uploaded a screenshot of her conversation on Hinge, a dating app that promises to bring back memories of pre-tinder adolescence and well kerned serif fonts.

One could say the conversation itself was a testimony to Mu's irreverence towards men who ask the most ridiculous questions. A single gentleman on the lookout (whose name had been graciously redacted to upkeep his privacy) asked - "What is the secret to your glowing skin? "

"That is strange indeed", she thought, considering she only ever had cryptic photos of her back, a friend's dog, some photography..."But none that readily displayed any skin."

To her surprise, she found herself typing out an answer most witty. In a fit of humourous passion, she also found it funny enough to share on her very publicly scrutinized Instagram account. Also a great antidote for the longing she felt for a certain someone - an instabump, a hit of that quick dopedope.

Three hours later however, she revisited her story again and felt nauseated by the number of people looking at it. Sources claim people who she had been to school with were sending her emoji reactions, not to mention people who only knew her to be an aesthete now saw a deeply personal side to her, the need to be on Hinge, the decadence of sharing that joke.

A blanket of paranoia shrouded her and thus brought the downfall of the screenshot that lasted only 3 hours on the interwebs. No eye witnesses were present on the scene to confirm this, but Mu tells us the aftermath of her oversharing was indeed a profoundly terrible and scary episode.