Mindblowing May: Day Three! *updated*

Oh right. I have another entrance on Sunday. Just brilliant, isn't it? FML. Luckily I have something that could possibly cheer me up. And that is. . . . yeah you guessed it right. . .  MINDBLOWING MAY DAY THREE! =D

The inspiration for today is : 

Beautiful BEAUTIFUL song :) 

Should be enough to inspire you, eh? :)
You can choose to figure out something from the entire song OR pick up just a few/a single line and write about it :)

You can use this as a stimulus and write a post. OR click a picture. OR sing about it[Don't forget to upload the audio,okay? =P] Do ANYTHING. Just be inspired :)
And don't worry about joining in the middle of the month. You can join whenever you want :)
Mail your bloglinks to me at hellotheremachas@gmail.com
I'll be updating this post by the end of the day with the bloglinks of the people who joined me, as well as my own post.
Love.
Ruuuuuu.

MY POST: 

It’s funny how a mere garden chair can witness more than any human, alive or dead. Being a man who appreciated natural beauty more than anyone else, my grandfather bought this 3 feet tall piece of metal just before my father was born. It was here that he often sat in silence and watched the sun drowning in the black sea of darkness. It was here that my father heard his first bed time story, and where I heard mine. And  it was here that you and I first shook hands, at the age of four.

No wonder we hit it off immediately, for I was a tomboy in every sense of the word, and you were, well, just another average boy.  It’s funny how our friendship constantly revolved around this very garden chair. At the age of four, we ran in circles around it for hours, and the courtyard came alive with the sound of our laughter. At the age of eight, we finished each other’s homework, for I loathed maths, and you just couldn’t stand Science. At fourteen you practiced your “proposal speech” for that cute girl from Chem class with me, and at  seventeen, we smoked our very first cigarette. Right here, on this garden chair.

I’d be lying if I said that sitting right here, at twenty one, I never EVER wished even for once that you’d pull me close and kiss me. But that was just a fleeting feeling, for you were my best[est] friend ever, and though neither of us ever mentioned that out loud, both of knew for a fact that we were nothing without each other, and that was something we simply could not afford to lose to something as trivial as a relationship.

And as I walked down memory lane, smiling at all the mental images, frowning at a few, I eventually reached the one I had been trying to bury under layers of pain and regret in my head. Everything was where it had always been. The sunset still painted the courtyard in beautiful shades of orange and red, the chair still stood where it always had, but we were twenty five. And I had something to say to you.

“. . .  so he told me he was infected and I panicked. The first thing I did was visit Dr. Lall. I just received the reports.” “And?” “Positive”.  That was the last thing either of us said that night. You’d expect your best friend of twenty years to scream at you for being the most irresponsible, careless moron ever. Maybe if he’s the emotional type, you’d expect him to cry. Hell, I even expected you to slap me across the face. What I didn’t expect you to do was sit in silence for about an hour, and then walk off without even saying a word. And if you think I didn’t notice the repulsed look on your face under the shadows, or the way you tried to inconspicuously increase the distance between us, you’re highly mistaken. I’d felt pain, disappointment, undergone heartbreak.  But THIS was sheer agony. That was the last time I ever saw, or heard of you.

Yes, I wish you would have called just once, or visited me during the worst part of my treatment. I wish that out of the million flowers that adorned my hospital room, just one had your name written on it with a simple “Get well soon”. And though I knew there was no hope, those words in that horrible scrawl of yours would have atleast helped me fight back. But you were gone for good, and that was enough to pull me down.

Sitting here today, on the very garden chair we shook hands in front of at the age of four, I’m at peace. I may or may not live through this year, but I’m glad I no longer wish you were here.  I’m glad you’re no longer around, that you’re just somebody that I used to know.

It's unfortunate how even the educated folk are at times equally ignorant as the illiterate. HIV is NOT transmitted through touching, hugging,sitting next to each other etc. Educate yourselves about this significant issue TODAY. 

The wonderful people who joined me today were:

Priyanka with http://peabee25.blogspot.in/2012/05/dear-you.html

And Akanksha with lizardtailgonecrazy.blogspot.com/2012/05/its-way-you-make-me-feel.html?m=0

In case you still wish to join us, you can send me your bloglinks by 1 am :)

Till then,

Tada folks :*

Not today. . .

"Name?"
"Suzanna."
"That's a beautiful name. Age?"
"Thank you. 25"
Father's name?"
There it was. This is why she preferred written questionnaires. Why she had ALWAYS preferred them. Cause well let's face it, it was easier to conceal those awkward pauses when she was on her own. Much MUCH easier in comparison to the present situation, where there was somebody hovering over her head, waiting for her response with baited breath. It made her extremely uncomfortable. And even though she knew exactly what she would say after another 10.6 seconds,this awkward silence was sort of mandatory. It had a become a habit, something ingrained in her psyche. She had filled in the same response in all the questionnaires, all the application forms, year after year. But each time  they asked her for her parents' name, she faced the dilemma of the prefix. It was a choice she had to make, a choice she would never have had to make, if it wasn't for that gruesome night of her tenth birthday. . .
It was a quiet affair. They had decided to not make a big deal out of their daughter's birthday this year since her grandmother had passed away just a week back. Little Sue was terribly upset, and had been throwing tantrums the entire day. She had even said a few nasty things to her mommy, things she didn't really mean. They broke mommy's heart, but she chose to keep quiet and keep little Sue as happy as possible. Ten was a big number, her little girl was growing up, and she didn't want to make the day worse for the apple of her eye. The world around her was in a state of utmost chaos, and the family lived in constant fear, in case they became the next victims of the riots. Sue, oblivious of the bigger picture,  had been sulking in the living room, when she heard the commotion in the hallway.
They had forced themselves in and had immediately overpowered her father. She heard someone screaming, and then realized the shrill sound was emitting from her own throat, as she watched them drag her wounded father into the living room. Mommy dropped the bowl of rice in the kitchen itself and rushed  into the room, only to be pinned down on the floor by a boy half her age. She had always maintained that the next 30 minutes were a blur, when people had interrogated her years later. But the truth was, she remembered each and every second of the ordeal. For they made sure she witnessed each and every bloody detail. They had butchered her loved ones in  front of her innocent eyes, while one of them covered her mouth with his rough and robust hands. But that wasn't necessary, for she wouldn't have screamed. She couldn't have. It was stuck in her throat, and it remained stuck in there for 30 whole minutes, after which she had collapsed. She still had nightmares at times, and those hands featured prominently in all of them.They always would.
The receptionist cleared his throat loudly. 10.6 seconds had elapsed, she still hadn't answered and he was getting impatient. What was she going to say? Would it be the same? Or would she choose to accept the truth finally and fill atleast ONE  application form correctly. Late? Or Mister? She would have to give in to the shattering truth one fine day, she would have to make it official by stating it in her documents. She would, but today just wasn't the day. . .
"Yeah, I'm sorry. Umm it's Mister. . . . "

This is a part of BluBlubling's Awesome April. Go check her fantastic Blog out! :)

I'll be there for you.

"And your pills? What about your pills?", he inquired, with his right eyebrow arching suspiciously.  The smile that spread across her face reached her wizened eyes. She nodded gently, still smiling at the almost patriarchal look on his face, and his shoulders relaxed. What would she ever do without him? Without his love, his tender care, without his constant questioning? He had been an adept officer in the vigilance department after all, and using his skills at home amused him to no extent. She didn't seem to mind either; coming from a family where women did not really receive the appreciation that they deserved, his anxious queries made her feel wanted. They made her feel special.
Ten years back, she could have filled the silence with a simple, honest "I love you", covering up for the time she had taken to admire him, in his presence. But those three words weren't enough anymore. Words would never be enough to tell him about all the love that seemed to overflow out of her weak little heart. And so, she chose to communicate her feelings of sheer admiration and adoration through her warm brown eyes. He understood, of course and touched his lips to her forehead, making her smile more than ever. Choked with a gamut of emotions, "Thank you", was all she could muster.
"Mom? Are you okay? Who were you talking to?". Jenny burst into the room, apprehension evident on her young countenance. "To your father, of course", she replied with a certain enthusiasm. "Umm, mom. I think you should sleep now. Have you taken your medicines? You were supposed. . . " "Ah. like father, like daughter. Yes honey, I have. You don't need to worry about me so much. he will take care of me. He always has, hasn't he?" The joy that her mother was radiating broke Jennifer's heart, and she chose to leave the room,   trying to hide the tears in her eyes from her elated mother. On the way to her room, she stopped to stare at her father's picture on the wall. Making a mental note to replace the garland of roses around his neck with a fresh one, she reached out for her phone in order  to make a call to her mother's physician.

This a part of BluBluBling's Awesome April. You can check out her blog here. :)

Learn to read between the lines.

You're like a distant star.

Bright, shining, dazzling me with all your power.

You're like a distant star.

You seem within reach, yet you're way too far. 

Tracing the lines on your forehead with my pinky finger, as you try to decipher the text from a random  person that you just received, I realize I know you as well as the back of my hand. I know your standard expressions. I can quote your standard replies. So well, that while waiting for you to say something, I can form your response in my head which I assure you, would be identical to yours. I could have an entire conversation with myself, pretending to be you. 

Yet in many ways, you're a stranger to me. And I, to you. Today, after years and years of companionship, I feel there's a glass sheet between us, between our hearts. Which allows us to understand our own viewpoint, but restricts effective communication. You're smiling at your Blackberry's screen, and I find myself smiling at you for reasons beyond my comprehension. It's like reflex. You smile, I smile. Or maybe this is where we're going wrong. Today, I am a mere reflection of your emotions in the clear blue stream of our love. Untainted, pristine, yet incomplete. Your sentiments decide the course of my day, your words can make or break me. I look at this stream of our love, and if I see an image of your grief, I reflect it faithfully. I am no longer a master of my own mind, I can no longer shun the sorrow that you radiate and try to become a source of joy for you instead. No. I am your reflection, and I've lost the firm hold that I had over the realities of my own life.

So don't ask me questions. Don't demand explanations. For what I feel now is not something I can weave into words. Words will never be enough to describe this chasm in my heart, constantly trying to break through it's walls. And your words will never be enough to fill this emptiness, it requires something much MUCH more. Something I need you to understand yourself, and not question me about. That something is all I need to keep my feet firmly rooted to the ground, to not crave for liberation from this loathsome existence of mine. 

You're like a distant star.

Bright, shining, dazzling me with all your power.

You're like a distant star.

You seem within reach, yet you're way too far.

Here's a song I felt echoed the emotion behind this post. 

More than words - Extreme :)

Again, a part of Kanika's Fantabulous February :)

Now that the love is gone.

She came in like the bright summer sun and left before I could fully bask in the warmth of her presence. I was a blank sheet of paper before she painted my life with the vibrant colors of her personality. I was an empty goblet before she filled my heart with the timeless wine of her love. My soul was like a barren piece of land which bore fruit after her constant efforts at mending the broken person that I was. And then, before I could fully grasp the fact that this magical being was indeed mine, she was gone. Gone. Moved on to a world where she could be better appreciated by the souls as divine as her. And I was left to cope up with my loss.
But I can't. My world is colorless, tasteless, meaningless, just as it was before she touched it and turned it into gold. There is nothing left of her, even her ashes were sprinkled on to the Ganges, making it more pristine and pure than it already was.There is nothing that bears testimony  of her existence, there is no proof of the fact that she ever did make my dead heart beat again. All that is left of her is that worn out white pullover that protected her fragile body from the chill, but could not protect her from the car crash that eventually ripped the life out of her.

I won't wish you a Happy Valentine's Day, readers, for I don't believe in this ritual which brings disappointment for some, heartbreak for others, and a sense of loss for the lonely.

PS. Sorry for such an emo post. You see, grief is infectious too.