Mess being off, I went on another round of loitering in search of food. Feeling gloomy, I went to Chedi's for a Tinku (a nice spicy and juicy egg burger). But what I saw only added to my gloom. The shop was closed. Having only Rs. 35 in my pockets, I couldnt afford to eat something fancy to dispel the gloom. I headed towards Billoo's and ordered for an aloo paratha.

I chose the chair farthest from everybody else, sat and decided to stare at the light-studded tree till the time I could stare at my food.

Ten minutes were over and no food had arrived. My order number was 16, and number 13 was the last to be served. Reluctantly I glanced over the other side of humanity. I saw the owner of the shop missing. He was talking to the men in the kitchen and pointing at my direction with his head.

Within three minutes, a man came with a plate in his hand. With my aloo paratha. I smiled at the man, but not for too long; and pounced upon the paratha.

It was kind of you Mr. shopkeeper.

Somebody else's poem for a change

These few months have been a kind of strings of  painful eyeopeners for me. I realised that I had been purposefully numbing myself and unleashing it all out upon myself. I wanted to avoid looking so that I could be able to see properly sometime. Well I guess I am seeing properly now, maybe.

I have realised that strength can sometimes become a double-edged sword. If it could really be called strength. Is there strength in silence? Is there strength in pretending to keep living as if nothing ever happened? That strategy can only go so far. You cannot keep running away forever. Most certainly not from yourself.

What do you do when nothing you do can retain the torrential acid flood of negative memories keep seeping and searing through your brain?

I used to think that I was a strong person. I could face anything. I just needed to have faith in myself. And somehow, I couldnt see that I was actually destroying myself. Well, I could see, but I believed whatever I did to myself would not really affect me. Or may be I couldnt care less what happened. Because it some how kept me sane, kept me going through, kept me capable of dealing with the day to day life. It helped me keep myself numb to whatever was going on the inside. It seems pretty insane now, but then, that was all that made sense. Scarily enough, it still makes sense.

I had been strong enough to destroy myself in one go, without even knowing it. My faith in me has taken a blow. But what I need now is a strength strong enough to hold myself back. Even if it means to become weaker in some ways.

After all, I have come face to face with this brutal truth that I have no one but myself.  A person with no helmet cannot afford to throw hammers at his own head.

I probably needed this self inflicted slap to wake up, to pick up my guts to really deal with what was wrong, instead of denying it away.

My life doesnt make sense to me still. Long time ago, I had struggled to find a reason to keep on living. There is no sense in living if you dont have one, isnt it? At least it seems so to me. I sometimes slip back into that searching mode, and I feel it probably would have been better if well I never existed in the first place.  Its scary, to feel there is no need for me to live at all. Its scary to know that the dreams from which you derive peace, should actually be nightmares.

But even though my life doesnt have a meaning, I will have to find that meaning. And if I dont find it, I will have to give my life a meaning.

It has to make sense.

Red ribbons upon a stitch 
Melancholia, is my switch 


Empty vessel, a clockwork mime 
Stranded in land of the blind 
Drawn by loose ends of time 
Over and over, and over I find 


 Red ribbons upon a stitch 
 Melancholia, is my switch