Procrastination is just a sophisticated synonym of fantasy which we, older people , use more often. Yes, we do fantasise, just like you, even as self proclaimed mature adults. But there is somethin…
There are those days, that occur quite often, when the known seems unfamiliar and the stranger feels unworldly. When there is that feeling of suffocation amid the constantly changing atmosphere. When thunderstorms and droughts flip over lapse and Right before your eyes, things melt with ice and freeze with fire. Stranger things just keep happening.
But you have nowhere to run because even you start to doubt your existence time and time again. The desk in your office doesn’t welcome you like it did when you first arrived, the friends you laughed with around the coffee machine seem strangers every passing day. The tea you depended your mornings on gets colder as you stare at it cluelessly.
The days when u don’t even know what you are thinking about while your tea sits on your table waiting to be sipped on. And that woman, the lady you vowed to stand by through thick and thin sleeps facing your back desperate to hear you chatter your day’s details. She snugs in her side of the bed hoping a miracle would make it feel like the day she first snugged in it. The thought that drops a tear on the pillow which soaks it up every night.
And you curse no one but time. The burdens brought in by time and age. What you don’t see is the test it beholds. These are those days that demand your attention towards the things you took for granted. Just a little attention, and before you know it, all the places, the things, the relations, they crawl back to you like they had never left.
Own the days for reluctance can drown you in the depths of despair from which there is no coming back.
“Roads don’t always lead to dead ends.”
The last line i read off my favourite novel. Fairytales are just fictions engraved into our minds from the age we sleep to the mesmerising voices of our mothers reading us a bedtime story. A beautiful girl meets a prince charming who rescues her out of her misery is ludacris. False fantasies portraying the bitter world to be an eclair of romance enfolded in sincerity.
I never believed in fairytales until my life started molding into one.
Lying on the floor in a dark room, my soul had left my body once again. Wandered off to places where it could smile. My body has always had a different yet a deep connection with my soul. The soul would often leave to wander off to places it called home. And the body would shed tears in return to her smiles. It was one of those nights again, the night when my soul smiled in ecstasy and the eyes shut in despair, the night the cheeks felt every silent tear the eyes shed, the night i wanted to be saved again.
My trance was interrupted when my phone beeped. It was unusual for my phone to ring and the sound came as a surprise to me. There weren’t many people left who wanted to know how i was doing. And the ones left were probably too busy to ask.
“Hey. How are you?”
The message my eyes hadn’t read since quite a while. I sat up to read it and replied instantly. Who was he? Why did he message me? And more importantly, why did i reply? I did not bother to know. Maybe i wanted an escape from the silence, maybe i wanted to be heard or maybe i just wanted my numb soul to finally get a feeling.
And it felt it. Days of loitering around, questioning my own existence, my soul finally felt alive again.
The conversation began with the stranger I knew nothing about but his username. Before i knew it, i was talking to someone i had never seen. Being rebellious that night felt right for the first time. Glancing upon my phone to see if he had replied or not, continuing small talks as an excuse for the conversation to just go on and not stop. It was 4am, and i found myself in an unusual state. There is an immediate bond of love formed between the child and whom it first opens its eyes to see. I felt that exceptional love bond form between me and a stranger whose message i opened my eyes to. In that july’s midnight i was born again.
Days of being overshadowed and helplessly feeling my demons feed upon me, i felt an array of hope. I could finally take a deep breath and feel the cage of suffocation break. Our conversations continued when he asked me for my number. Promptly, i gave it without having a second thought. How could i not? He was the light i saw coming my way through the midst of a thick haze. That day i entitled him to be mine. No matter what his relationship status was. He was mine. He had to be. How could he not be my prince charming,? after all, he did rescued me from my demons. I was in love. In love with a man i knew not.
Time passed and we became the best of friends. Endless long phone calls of speaking our hearts out, craving for eachothers time and complementing eachother became a ritual we kept crawling after. Talking to him everyday bloomed my soul. I felt it grow from a bud to a complete flower along with my love for him. He conquered my thoughts and my love got relentless. I knew i was caught in my own bubble where my feelings were probably one sided, but i had lost control over my emotions. I was ready to be his damsel silently hoping for him to be mine one day and surrendered to keep my feelings to myself if i had to keep him. And i was in no position to loose him.
2 months passed, and that day came. The day i could no longer watch and hear him talk to other girls, the day i refused to suffocate under the title of his friend. The fear of him coming to me one day telling me he is in love with someone else took over and i broke down. I was helplessly in love with him. His eyes that stared right through my soul, the lips that curved into a subtle smile, the voice that got me addicted to it. Everything about him began to haunt me.
He would wake up and talk to me, comfort me throughout the day, make me feel special, make me laugh and acknowledged my existence. He’d send me his pictures throughout the day and i would keep them safe in a vault, he would tell me im beautiful as if he knew that was what i desperately needed to hear. The sense of security i had with him was unlike anyother protection.
He pulled me out of my destress, he saved my soul from being lost forever, he had to be the one who stays in the picture with me. Not the one i silently have to love from a distance. So i said it. My stomach crumpled as i wrote out every feeling to him unaware of what his reaction might be. The feeling of being lost came back and hit hard this time. I felt alone and had lost all my guts. With shattered emotions, i snug my face into my wet pillow once again and just prayed to not wake up tomorrow if i had to read anything im not strong enough to read. A denial was all i needed to give up.
The same sun rose up the next day. Pretending to act normal, the day passed like anyother. Same laughter, same smiles hiding the same emotions that kept feeding of me from the first day.
That night, stalking his pictures in my gallery i got a message from him and i read something unusual:
“I love you. Will you be mine?”
These words shoke my world. Is it real? Am i actually getting what i have been asking for? Am i really this lucky? Tears began to flow down my cheeks and i felt more alive than ever before. The cages had broken and the ice had melted. My prayers had been answered.
Fairytales do exist. It did for me. And through all this my mind kept recalling:
“Roads don’t always lead to a dead end.”
There it was, the sound of the first thunder. Standing with my face towards the sky, feeling the wind kiss my soul. I was almost driven into a trance of disbelief when the first drop of rain splashed onto my cheek.
The goosebumps were unreal. It was everything but a rain drop, it was a gunshot tearing my soul, driving me into his flashbacks.
His deep brown eyes that i remember sparkled upon me as he combed his fingers into his soft looking hair. His smile that brightened my world inside out, and his arms, the warmth in itself. The feeling of security within them, the princess that took birth within me with every i love you.
There i stood, paralysed, with his gestures streaming before my eyes like a movie i had lived in previously.
” Where are you.!!” Yelled the rain drop crawling down my face.
We always knew demons from books, stories, movies, portraying a presence hard to accept. Someone or something that haunts your dreams, kills a good guy, acts as an obstacle between happiness. But, beneath the smile we flaunt, we hide a rather uglier version of a demon beneath us.
“I love you” some ordinary syllables acting like bullets that hit you when you least called for it. They bring you to life, compell you to love the feeling it beholds and eventually decays you. Pulling you towards a deep hole you later find yourself helplessly trapped into. Crawling, feeding onto your flesh, flowing inside your veins, breathing your only air.
And when you tremble in pain with your heavy heart, screaming out all your strength in acceptance to your weekness, it looks back at you saying,
“You wanted me, well, here i am.”
” So? What is it?” She asked excitedly. Anxious to know about the blessing coming her way.
Taking a deep breath the doctor replied,
“….It is a boy.!”
“Abort him.!” Not taking a second to think, the pregnant woman replied abruptly.
Recently, there has been a relative increase recorded in the number of male abortions. Birth of a boy is considered to be an ignominy for most families, hence, they always opt for an abortion without giving it a second thought. If you actually ponder upon the decision, it is probably the right thing to do. After all, it is extremely hard for a boy to survive in this society.
A society where, as the sun sets, is the start of a curfew for men. And why not, it is for their own good. They are only poor, helpless beings, always looked upon as sexual objects. You can only imagine what may happen to them under the quilt of the night.
Although, saying they are completely safe at home is also wrong to another extent. It was only yesterday, when i read in the news that a man was set alive on fire. Why give birth to a soul who is possible to become a victim of domestic violence?
He gets followed by lascivious winks. No matter what he wears, how camouflaged he is, there will always be lust scanning him head to toe wherever he goes.
And If he gets raped, which is a major possibility, it is his fault. He is a boy, the gender itself is so intimidating. And to think about reporting it to an authority, completely pointless. The responsible departments have far better crimes to solve. After all, the rape was entirely his call. Why did he wear jeans and a t-shirt?
Wake up and think outside the box. The world would have been a horrible place for men if this is what was happening to them. What about the women who are currently being framed and victimised. Are they in any better place?
Fear the time when mothers shall refuse to carry a boy in her womb. The time that will strike you with guilt and regret. It will make your ears bleed out the screams of the victimised. The regret will compell you to bite onto your own flesh.
Wake up. Before the time begins to spit out all the filth fed to it.