An ode to anxiety and life.

There are good days and then there are bad.
So bad, that you can't make yourself get out of bed.
So bad, you have to remind yourself to breathe,
wish you didn't have to open your eyes.
So bad that you wish it was night time,
and you were under the sheets,
and mom couldn't see that your eyes are swollen from all that crying.
There are some days when you find yourself clasping the blade,
making small incisions, slicing, slicing away.
and some times, you cut a little too deep.
Your friends and family send you to a doctor,
a doctor who makes all the right diagnosis,
says all the right things,
while a storm brews inside, and you fear you will wither away.
As the world becomes a voyeur of someone's suicide,
you hide in the shadows, crawl back into your shell,
and try to grapple with demons.
You fall, and pick yourself up and repeat.
Away from empty rhetoric of healing, happiness and love.
You know the good days are some times rare, so you cling to them,
you cling to them like the last bite of your favorite ice-cream,
Savoring it, slowly.
Those days when your overbearing anxiety seems as light as a feather,
And the voices inside your head don't bother,
instead encourage you to go on a bit longer.
And you meet people, and you laugh a bit.
You set little goals, make promises to yourself.
And you finally go to bed, dreaming about another good day.

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It is everywhere...

Blood here and fire there,
People succumbing to the war against humanity.
Screams surround us, and the bodies keep piling,
As the abyss of our collective doom slowly becomes a reality.

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Stories of you and me

You begin to tell me your stories,
Of the dark dreams and thoughts,
And I stare at you with a child-like wonder.

You begin to tell me your stories,
Of the dreams that haunt you, of memories that don't let you be.
And I trace your scars with my fingers.

You tell me about the lost childhood,
Cursing yourself as you continue.
And I place my palm on the scars, trying to cover them and make them all disappear.

You tell me things that remind me of my own demons,
And I wonder how we are both the same,
From the same tree of sorrow, wishing for it to all go away.

You continue to tell me about the past,
As we get engulfed in this smoke.
Ashes around us, from things we are both trying to burn and from this cigarette you hold in your fingers.

You tell me your stories and I
go back to your childhood &
picture the child trying to fight the monsters.
The monsters that never go away,
Lurking under the bed.

I try to hold you, trying to figure out where the broken pieces go.
And you share your silence with me,
& we let everything get lost in this dimly lit room.

p.s.- This is for you. Wherever you are, whenever you read it. I'm here.

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Just a Tea-boy...

The clouded glasses on the window, 
they always have a story to tell,
of disillusioned thoughts, shabby dreams,
unformed patterns and blurry distant future.

The empty cups have tales they hide,
of people, their lives and the lips they touch.
Witnessing events that may have been important,
of  few hurried whispers and silences.

These hands which clean the tables have nothing to say,
for they have been shackled for so long.
The scars on the arms are quiet as well,
tired of screaming behind the closed doors.

The eyes don't shed a tear anymore, longing to see someone familiar,
The ears don't pine to hear the name, his mother used to call.
How long has it been he doesn't remember?
Was it yesterday or has it been a hundred years.
The books are lost, so are the dreams.
The promises made to his family to keep him well,
are broken along with his will and soul.

He is just a tea-boy, a prisoner of fate,
neglected like those window panes,
broken like those cups.
He is just the tea-boy lost among the crowd of others just like him.

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Questions and Suspicions.

A rape every 21 minutes. That's the current statistics of the heinous crime in our country. Somehow I feel it might be even more than that. No matter how scary that thought is, I still have to get out of my house everyday and return late in the evening. I am interning with an organisation, and that requires me to return home late, sometimes VERY late. In between frantic and worried calls, whatsapp messages and other things (yes too much communication is a menace), I return home. Safe and Sound.

It is not that the rapes, specially the brutal 16th December, has not affected me. It has scarred me. I have closed myself and I go into a shell whenever I'm in a public space. This shell thing is funny 'cause I go into a shell even when am in the Ladies Compartment. I keep myself guarded, it's like an emotional armor that am wearing (an armor I wish was metal and was more physical in nature). So from closely watching every guy I pass when am travelling to, keeping a blank face to hysterically panicking that am being followed, I do it all, every single day.

Is it just me? I don't think so, it must be every other girl in the country. Always thinking of worse possible scenario and keeping a straight-face-demeanor, that is me now a days. But it is not just my assumption that things are wrong right? I still get groped, or see girls being 'touched', or that slight brushing of the hands, I see it every day.

Why shouldn't I be guarded, why shouldn't I question every guy around me then? Who to trust? No it is not that I'm victimizing myself or am considering everyone as a predator and thus generalizing the entire 'breed' under the category of pervert. It is safe-keeping I think. I want myself safe, no matter what happens. Because mentality won't change, nor will the 'patriarchal society'. There will be more funds like the Nirbhaya Fund but it won't make a dent in the present situation.

I'm happy with my questions, my suspicious looks and considering every guy a jerk, instead of reciting the Saraswati Mantra or staying away from Chowmein as far as possible. Thank You!

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It is a Man's World

Awake with a startle, wondering where she was,
How long was she unconscious? She doesn't remember.
Tries to open her eyes, she just cannot.
Why does it pain so much, she's perplexed,
She suddenly remembers the blows on her face,
musters up the courage to face herself.

In herself she sees the first day he hit her,
and days that followed with flowers and gifts.
10 years after, that routine still follows.
Being beaten to pulp and then flowers.
Is she supposed to cushion herself with them?
Are they nothing but false promises?
Is she going to be compensated for the drunken violence,

Why does she stay, why does she put up with this life?
Is it love? Is it fear? Is it about her own insecurities?
She touches the scars that have now found a permanent place.
Will she ever find herself? Will she ever find answers?
Will he ever be the same?
She's lost more than she thought herself to be.
It is a man's world indeed.

She hears a distant wail, stammering, stumbling, she goes,
Her only child, the apple of her eye, her savior in her dark gloomy life.
She picks her up, and cradles her to sleep,
singing the songs her own mother used to sing.
The child falls back into a deep slumber, 
safe in her mother's arms, oblivious to her hell.

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Fifty Shades Trilogy by E L James

A lot has been talked about this not-so-new E L James trilogy, Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed. Am an ardent reader and after I got to know that it was about BDSM ( bondage and discipline (B&D or B/D), dominance and submission (D&S or D/s), and sadomasochism or sadism and masochism (S&M or S/M), I knew I had to get to it straight away.

I won't get into the details of BDSM 'cause I know you people either already know about it or will have researched thoroughly while reading this book review. I myself had to research a bit about it to get a clear idea what exactly I was getting in to. Though the wikipedia gives a pretty well descriptive explanation, the book however tries to give it a romantic twist.

The story is simple, and am sure all those people fans of Stephenie Meyer and her Twilight series might find a bit of similarity between the story style. Controlling guy, Timid yet defiant girl, and the undying love in a twisted weird way.
Anyway, so Anastasia Steele, the gawky freshly graduate falls in love with much older filthy rich, dark and mysteriously handsome Christian Grey, who want's to harm her in a not-so-harmful-way.

The story keeps on revolving around too much sex and too much BDSM for my platter, I mean yes I knew before reading it what I was getting into, and that it wasn't the usual fairytale-cliched-chiclit, but there's a limit to which two people can have sex.

There are somethings which are totally unreal, such as:

1. YOU CAN NEVER HAVE SEX THREE TO FOUR TIMES IN A ROW WITHOUT TAKING A BREAK. Not unless you're on some medicine or steroid or something. It is just unreal. 

2. ORGASMS, IT IS NOT POSSIBLE TO HAVE TOO MANY ORGASM IF YOU'RE A VIRGIN THE FIRST TIME. I mean come on, EL James goes over the top with the number of the big O's Ana has in the series.

Yes, I understand she's totally in love with him and he can't think of anything else other than her, and both of them complete each other, but still, WHY? He's way damaged and yes I understand the whole "I can make him alright, I'll change him and kiss away his tears" psychology but this is way too much.

No matter how much I may criticize and try to find the obvious faults with the book, I would still say that reading it was an addiction, I didn't put it down without finishing all the three books. I don't know if it was the dominant yet caring nature of Christian, or that I could relate to the defiant character of Anastasia or that their twisted relationship somehow appealed to me, whatever it was that book got to me on a certain level. 

But let me warn you,  you're sure to fall in love with either or both of the characters while you're reading it. 
Christian Grey for his boyish charms which he keeps well hidden behind his dark past and his BDSM lifestyle, his incessant habit to stalk and control and his 'Love' for Ana.
Anastasia Steele to put up with a damaged guy, to stand up to him when she thinks she's right (despite him trying to be all scary), her passion for her dreams (though her rich boyfriend owns the company she works in), her admiration for Christian and his lifestyle, and her coping mechanism with his past.

There are other many small but important characters which James have beautifully put in the series, Ana's best friend and a bit obnoxious Kate Kavanaugh, her boy friend Eliot Grey (who is Christian's Brother), Jose  Rodriguez; Ana's close friend who's smitten by her in an obvious manner and Ray Steele; Ana's dad.

Sometimes when I was reading this book I really felt as if Christian was trying to buy Ana's love buy showering her with the most expensive gifts.

Like any other lovestory, we have the amalgamation of disapproving best-friends, clingy ex-girlfriends, villains and even a shrink, but James gets it all straight in the end by giving it a very Happily-Ever-After Ending; which again appeared too unreal to me.

So don't go by anything anyone says about the book, it doesn't even matter that you're halfway through it and it doesn't make much sense to you, I would say complete the trilogy and just get it over with.
It will take some time to sink in, and you might just love it despite of all the complains you might have against it. And who knows you might end up wishing for a boyfriend/husband like Christian Grey or a girlfriend/wife like Anastasia Steele.
But do remember it's all fiction, don't get too lost in the characters or the story.

I wish you a Happy Reading!

p.s.- I take no responsibility of whatever twisted thoughts may come into your mind after you're done with it.

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