I am my subject, shall remain..

 

 

new1 (2)

 

There’s a moment right before you wake up……It’s a moment of absolute nothingness, completely white and opaque. It lasts for a fraction of a second but you sometimes wish you could live in that second forever. It’s an instant devoid of feeling, the only occasion when you can actually stop time in its tracks. It’s a button that triggers the most perfect of freeze frames, and it’s over before you realize it was there at all. 

And then you actually wake up. Face light. Face life. Let’s make us some coffee, latte here.

If you asked me to describe my life right now, I would tell you that I’m feeling lucky. And blessed. And happy. Most importantly, I genuinely mean it. People have been highly appreciative of my blog, the stats are improving, I have earned more than 4200 wonderful followers and its growing as we speak which is a tremendous achievement in itself.

Advertisement agencies are showing prodigious faith and promise. Reputed copyright agencies have tied up, they are closely monitoring and protecting my content. So, all those Sir’s and Madam’s who had issues on the authenticity and standard of my content should stop burning their midnight oil and better find somebody else to keep themselves busy. I was also being targeted for my subjective writings. Well, my writings are about myself, the life I have seen and lived thus far, the struggles I faced, my conflicts and confusions with my own self, with situations and people around, it’s about me losing my way, confidence and strength and discovering them back. I am important to me. My stories are important to me and they need to see the light of day. If somebody feels otherwise that’s not my problem. There will be hundreds of people wanting to write the life of a boxer mom or a reluctant politician or the reigning Chief Minister or social worker, thousands will attempt to write about their regions, its beauty or the lack of it, disturbances, terrorism etc. I am my subject, and trust me, nothing intrigues me more than my own self. Hence, Arunima Dutta shall remain my most important subject. Period.

And as i say this a sting of nostalgia creeps in unnoticed in the middle of my morning coffee. This sudden and quiet whisper of nostalgia cripples me, I won’t lie. Past knocks again. People shame me for looking back. And I get it. I’ve been beating myself up over it. Sometimes, I can’t control my natural instinct to look in the rear view mirror. And this is nostalgic. But nostalgia, to me, has never been about my wanting to go back to my past and redo it. It’s never been about trying to change the outcome. It’s never been about trying to go back and see if I could find something I missed. Something new. Something that would change the way my life turned out. Every road I’ve traveled led me to this life. Nostalgia is about taking my arms and wrapping them around the girl I used to be and hanging onto the naivety that I once lived in. The girl i knew was me. She was alone. Hurt. Misunderstood. She was confused. She needed help.

There will be things you cannot erase from your memory. And then what do you do? You try to start the process of forgetting. But your memory will forever be bound to these images – flickering visions of choices you cannot undo. You’ll attempt to write letters, but you’ll find that the words and phrases doesn’t necessarily count for anything if you can’t find a hook strong enough to hold its weight. Your trash can will pile up with crumpled balls of paper that remain smeared with meaningless ink.

There are some decisions you get to apologize for, you realize, and there are some that you don’t. My fear is that I will never be fully present. That I’ll never love a moment as much as I should. That I will never live in the way that I should. My fear is that I will always fall into my nostalgia and kick myself for not laughing harder, or loving deeper. My fear is that these words — my own words, will never be enough. That they’ll sit on your computer screen and mean nothing more than that. My fear is that I’ll never truly ever be okay with letting these moments disappear. That I’ll never learn to truly let go. 

It will be these moments that force you to wonder if you chose correctly. You find a sense of calm in realizing that you will never know the answer to that question, that there actually is no way to know. You eventually realize that not all choices are right or wrong, instead; they are chapters of time, like state signs or mile markers. Your choices are first sentences, or the beginning of an epilogue.

Ultimately, sometimes you have to burn the bridge in order to know what comes next.

The phone rings.

Advertisements

When it’s just Black and White…

bw3

I’ve changed the way i look a bit….deliberately. I’ve got a new hair-cut which is blanketed by strong shades of black. The blonde strands have gone and i’ve become a bit monochrome..donning a lot of black and white. In some strange inexplicable mechanism its giving me strength. Confidence. Power. Black and white is so dramatic isn’t it? Light is meaningful only in relation to darkness and truth presupposes error. It is these mingled opposites which people our life….makes it pungent, intoxicating. And we only exist in terms of this conflict…in the zone where Black and White clash.

Frames that inspire me:

bnw4

bnw1

bnw3

bnw5

Cheers!!

I am stronger and better than you!

To:

Molester.

Hope i am affixed in your memory. Or maybe i am mistaken. Because i ain’t the first milestone down your dingy dark alley. You’ve ”been there, done that” a dozen times haven’t you?  Still, face me now. Here i am. Remember me?  Yes you do. I am the one you verbally abused and manhandled today, another notch on your belt if i am not mistaken, another trophy in your filthy closet.

Why? Did my clothing provoke you? A pair of trousers and long sleeved shirts couldn’t be revealing, couldn’t have instigated you into behaving with such downright hawkishness. No. Can you defend your pugnaciousness? Can you provide sanctuary to your aggression? Is physical attraction so overwhelming that you lose all sense of being human? I remember the cold glint in your eyes as your gaze turned condescending and menacing, disdainful.

Did you like watching my eyes dilate with fear? Felt good right? A heavily built six feet something frame undoubtedly gave you the advantage to corner and scare me to death. But here’s something you need to know, i possess a strong muscle as well…my brain. And here i am. Telling you, i can’t be petrified. I can’t be silenced.

Karma. We all meet the fate we deserve. And somehow. someday, i will be avenged. And then you will wonder why you’d crossed the path with me.

From:

Survivor.

 

What happened to me was minor in comparison to what many of us have had to face everyday. The place where we live is awful and when we voice as such we are silenced by monologues, respecting the birthplace and thanking the stars for being born here instead of Israel and Pakistan hit the eardrums like crazy…..seriously! How on earth does that brighten our prospects Sir/Maam? I was never given a choice where i wanted to pop out so where i am from would be the last thing i would be proud of. And if you say this country is my ultimate mother prove it to me by ”not” staring at me like i’m a piece of meat. I have had a taste of what real danger feels like, and to all those who has met similar fate and worse i would urge them to ”not remain silent.”

Because you are survivors and not victims. Because strong women don’t play victims, they don’t look pitiful….they stand and they deal. I am one. So are you.

Be Safe. Stay Strong.