I AM RED
When I am too happy, I circle myself back to normality which reeks of sadness. I think, in installments, which I can’t pay through logic or reasoning as to why I am nowhere. I am 27, soon to be 28. And I am nowhere. Like everyone else, pretty much…. I jumped ship from not getting admitted to Engineering and instead chose- Law. The mighty Bsc LLB with Honours, mind you, didn’t reciprocate in ways I had thought my mid-twenties to be.
In a very effective shaming of my life, all my life, I have been told, I have great potential. What am I supposed to do with this potential? This potential has only led to more generation of potential.
When I am asked to write content for a friend’s friend’s friend, I am never asked how much will my time and creativity cost them. They presume that despite all my talent and hardwork, I have potential which needs exploitation. I had like to charge them all, just to get to me, just to find me. But thats my potential in askance of a desperate act.
When I am asked to love with limits and confusion, be carefree, not feel much, learn to stick with lies- because I am so smart that I only wished I was as dumb for what all it’s come to, I feel desperate. My in-another-world-another -time potential husband is now married and running a Forbes 30 under 30 and the guy I ditched him for is now marrying the girl I hate, while here I am, I feel so lost, lonely and drained at times that I now know how exhausting it is to find someone who can love you like you do, all those poems/songs burn the aisle with disdain…And all of them tell me- “Well, you are too out of the league for us”, why is it that I hear overlapping voices, all repeating, all at once. Like, my potential found an exit like a bullet wound. sprinkling me with blood everywhere, red red red
I will tell you about the time when I was in standard Six. I was definitely not sweet. I was dreamy though. As a child, being molested, forced to perform blow jobs, made to sit for hours in the sun, belt marks which left red stains on the delicate backbone, sometimes a skin or two, trailing off the belt, I was very much ‘woke’ for a 12 year old. I got menstruation early. In 6th. I remember distinctly.
I used to have wet dreams. I hope that’s the word?
There were Himesh Reshamiya’s songs and Imraan Hashmi vibes all around. I was so sexually charged at 13 that I will never be THAT charged, again. All the boys I ever loved, broke me so bad that I am left with no charge. But, Hashmi did give me nocturnal satisfactions. Mastubation was introduced with Mills and Boons, the pages marked for self pleasure sessions and many times- 10 rupay wala CD’s which I used to sneak in, watch and enjoy. I enjoyed dreaming about my future. I still remember, I was one day just lying on my smol bed and wondering what my future Imraan will be like. All the moves? Zero moves? I approved of tip tip barsa paani and Kaal kaal mein hum tum kare dhamaal looks. I used to yearn to get stranded, only to be saved by a stranger who turns out to be a handsome hunk who loves me so much that well….
I also imagined what if some hot shot actor thought I have never seen such a gorgeous woman in my life. She is it.
But after I grew up, I imagined what if some writer/Bezos thought I have never seen such a smart woman in my life. She is it.
Then, I cry.
Today, while I was thinking of getting so up close and personal here, I was standing in the sun, outside. A few destitutes who live down on the footpath have a dog, wearing a military vest. Such a kind dog. (The woman who lives on the roadside told me the dog’s name, Laali- reminded of how my dog is- Kalu) Today as I stood reading in the sun, I just felt too lonely for such a good sunny winter day and I started patting him. I cried profusely. Behind my cotton mask of a smiley. He looked me in the eyes. I wanted him to see me crying.
I wanted this dog’s sympathy. He came closer to me, pressed his body against my legs and comforted me.
Tomorrow, I shall not forget the biscuits I think of giving him but forget every damn day. (serves me right- all those tears!!)
I have discovered, in almost exhilaration a good side effect of crying. The tears do contain some sort of fucked up potion, which makes my skin glow. The shine is real. And if I can turn a multi billion dollar investment of cosmetology and beauty regime into tearful drops of reasonings, I am a winner here…. for all you care.
But the eyes don’t lie. They are red.
In other news, The Salerno health regimen was based in the humoral theory of medicine, which is focused on keeping balance among the body’s four humours—blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile. Foods were thought to possess qualities that could help maintain that balance: each hot or cool, dry or moist. These ideas originated in the ancient Mediterranean world, most prominently with the Greek physician Galen, and were passed to doctors in the Arab world, before returning to Europe. I would like to try this diet. I feel nothing like I want to live in the present, 2021.
Except maybe what I am reading? read?
Some texts which were like magnet
The Poetry of Strangers: What I Learned Traveling America with a Typewriter
Holy People of the World: A Cross-Cultural Encyclopedia (3 Volume Set)
Read any of these?
Shall post few Reviews here itself If I am not too gloomy, this Feb.
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Deep, and moving, if that’s what you wanted it to be it succeeded totally. Thank you. Lavender IS my favourite flower.
I have never read something so so deeeeep