There’s something about the weather; the chill in the air and the dampness around; the sun playing peekaboo. The season’s here: that time of the year again, time to assess the balance sheet; of life: the pros and the cons; the hits and the misses, the moments that stood out and those which were lessons in touching up the undone portions of the self-molding machinery that life seems to be now. As, I look back; there have been moments of bliss which catapulted my spirits; also there have times when life looked bleak; moments of utter despair so to say, there seemed no escape then. But, life’s good; it does pull itself back, like a rubber band; the contractions are hard to come; but it does, eventually.

Never been someone who romanced the glossy side of life; what’s more fascinating than a life that is drenched in melancholy?? The answer to this is melancholic too, far more real than anything sleek and lustrous that life has to offer. Life does offer and so do we, often swayed by the tempestuous surge of emotions; breaking away from it, I did take refuge in something that was never my calling; and here I am now; not regretful; added a new feather to my cap; to my wings rather I would say. I haven’t mastered myself; but certainly I am no amateur now; dealing with the tidal surge of conflicting thoughts is something I can deal with, the bed in place; however eroded it might be; it knows for a fact that desolation isn’t just an everyday ordeal; it’s euphoric, the soul seeks a bit of it, all the time. It does keep the senses in check, harnessing the mind is difficult but a tinge of desolation does help in exercising the grip.

Often lost in the mad maladies of the world, there’s some respite when the mind gets lost on its own, venturing into a zone where there isn’t a cacophony of colliding thoughts; where there’s solitude and harmony; and just an affliction that keeps the mind grounded; bolted to it’s base. Nothing tragic about it; even though all that my soul seeks is just an element of tragedy; a bit of a heartbreak; nothing like nursing a heartache; it’s addictive, so much so that the mind has now grown unreceptive to anything which might seem to have a fairy tale end to it; who cares for the end?? The pain that lingers within, has no end at all, it makes it all the more merrier to have. Cutting across the barriers of everything bright and nitid; the grey skies of the mind does inspire the thoughts to find a flow; channelizing the tumultuous hunches which otherwise seem untamable.

Compelling it is, so is the urge to hold on to it; the drought is never ending; but that is what the soul wants for itself; a benediction in itself it is: the relentless call of anguish; sorting the unreal mess of superficiality that life is surrounded by. ”Life is earnest; life is real”; they say, and nothing feels more real than being girdled by a hint of heaviness.

That said, it brings me back to where I was in the first place; square one?? No, not really; the season of contemplation is here, and it’ll stay; the mind shall do it’s spring cleaning; but it will hold onto the thing that is most essential for it to keep ticking: just an iota of a heartbreak; boon or bane?? Boon, I say; keeps it real.

Just let go of me
Suffer slowly
Is this the way it’s got to be?
Dear Agony!!

** Ending lines: Dear Agony; Breaking Benjamin

“Read Tagore, listen to his compositions, for someday you’ll know that he has a song for every emotion.”; Maa would often say, an eleven year old would rather prefer going out to fly kites, at 32, the man now realises every bit of what she said were true. Maa, she is still the Tagore devotee that she were, her son seems to have driven home the lesson too.

Certain songs hit you, hit you differently; they not only take you back in time and smother nostalgia all over, and as the feeling takes over you, you realise there’s something about the past that is still alluring. And, I’d rather choose to be there, hungover by all that could have been, all that it were and used to be: innocent, unadulterated and untouched by worldly desires of give and take. The subconscious mind does it’s job of holding firm, not letting the idle mind to drift, and as it recollects, recounts and takes a deep dive, the mind realises drowning in the rivulet of the past can often lead to the rediscovery of emotions which had been missing lately.

A few lines which were once hummed by someone has now hit the very core of my senses, taking over and pulling me towards this enormous void which can never be filled or fulfilled again, not in this life. Tagore would have known better, he would have known and understood what the heart pines for, but could never have, never claim to be it’s own. The three worlds could coincide, yet the trace of that one being who at some point were the heavens I looked upon, and the netherworld I wouldn’t have minded to go looking for, would disappear.

That’s the magic of being hit by something for the first time, it stays; and when it is as delicate as the feelings of an eleven year old, it manifests into an undying heartache of a thirty two year old man. An unanswered question at times, a million word answer often: none but the same, manifestation of that last glance, and of all that now is reminiscent of someone’s presence.

The heavens, and the netherworld and the realm that hangs in between echoes the same tune which I had once heard someone humming, and it’ll continue to resonate until the day I get to meet her on the other side.

আমার সুর গুলি পায় চরণ,
আমি পাই নে তোমারে।

P.S: Ending lines from one of Tagore’s finest compositions: দাঁড়িয়ে আছ তুমি আমার
গানের ওপারে।

The autumn shades serve a reminder that letting go might have been a lesson, but the essence of it had been an experience worth remembering, the fall had been a grace; as graceful as her presence which had then propelled my spirit to soar and now fuels me into writing. There was but a time when I wouldn’t find the zeal to write, I wasn’t then aware of the fact that there would come a time when I would get stuck at something which would go on to outshine everything that would exist, I might have chosen to let go, but then; I had always been a master at one sided affairs: of the heart, of the mind and now of my thoughts, for each time I try to focus at something else; my mind chooses to lead me astray : towards something which I had let go.

They say; “Letting go is tough”; yes, it is; but it is beautiful nonetheless, for you don’t have it any longer, you can’t claim it back, you don’t own it either, you have to yourself just the memories of it: the precious ones, a treasure full, a hidden chest somewhere within, and there comes a season when it all shows up. The nature around you exhibits it’s presence all around, and all within you: the lesson and the significance of it blooming and falling: all at the same time. The withering and sprouting of new leaves is just but another cycle, the new leaves shall fall over too, but the roots and the trunk remain, don’t they?? And, that’s all about it, manifestation is but a process, the autumn shade is indeed a stark reminder.

The act of letting go is a choice, often a deliberate one; what isn’t deliberate is the reminder we are served by things around us, the autumn leaves and the night jasmines, the cool shade and the light breeze, for something brings back the rushes of things left behind: thoughts, smiles and at times a face. It does nothing, rather adds to the beauty of the season, another reason to celebrate and be grateful, new leaves might sprout, yet the root remains firm, seeking and soaking and absorbing; the mind does the same: reflects and contemplates, gathers and discards; and absorbs all that remains: the goodness of all that existed, and that is what it’ll take to sustain itself and withstand a dry spell.

And, that’s what it is like: autumn and blessings all around, each fallen night jasmine a blessing to be gathered, and to be grateful about. Each jasmine a reflection, a mirror and often reflecting just one face, that smile and as the shade lightens, the season reminds me it was but a lesson: the very best, the most enriching and the most significant. I shall let it go again, the mind shall breed new ideas yet it’ll stay grounded, firmly rooted and the trunk: my soul, it will await the onset of autumn again.

To be able to convince myself that I couldn’t do without certain people in my life had been a travesty I had made out of life, I had most certainly dealt with the curve balls life had thrown at me, but I had rubbed it off my back, but who had ever been able to control the urge to not look back? I wasn’t certainly blessed with the ability to put up a brave face, I would rather withdraw myself and hide behind the veil of my words, often try disassociating myself with the reality that existed, but then, for how long could I just pretend?

Amazing it is as to how life can come a full circle, in the end the infinite thoughts which had made my mind their home would boil down to just one: the significance of the very moment, the present and the ordeal to live through and make it count. Although, I hadn’t been an absolute failure at neglecting the past, but nonetheless I would feel a pull so strong at times that I would often unintentionally walk down the alleys of the days bygone, who had ever been able to control the urge? I did, I still do and this shall forever stay, but staying back; stuck where I were: maybe it would take some self coaxing for me stay away.

The hallmark of whatever then seemed beautiful is that it still seems untouched by anything, still as fresh as it were, bathed in the silken glow of someone’s laughter, and to me it is still alluring, it hasn’t lost the magical grip which had once held me captive, perhaps the pull isn’t as strong as what it were, but there’s certainly no fading away of it, looking back: perhaps I’d still trade all the joys of my present and wrap it into a present in exchange for what I had lost, would it still make sense? No, certainly not, but there lies the catch, maybe just a seepage through which I see light, and the past still burns: not in flames rather it warms me up, a cocoon of sorts, the self coaxing can be put to rest for a moment as I slip inside; the realisation overtaken and overpowered by the visuals of what it were. I don’t see a face, formless it is and yet so potent, strong enough to hold the current of my thoughts and change it’s course.

And, I can pretend, pretend it’s all good, the outer self coated with glee and brimming smiles; yet there’s a pull within, and it stretches to infinity, the finite mind unable to trace the origins of it despite knowing it’s all within me. There’s no looking back here, as I seek within; within the very core of myself; inside the bodily cage and the soul that glues it all together: there’s a fire that still burns, the flame of it glowing brighter than ever. It’s time to disassociate again, it’s time to hide behind the veil, it’s time the words flow, and surely there’s no travestying here.

P.S: The veil shall be, it’ll be a shroud someday and hopefully the words will still hold up, the fire within shall douse when it ignites without.

“No regrets, thanks”; read my last text, it had been the hallmark of my friendships, never carried any regrets, remorse, maybe a Yes; but never a regret, not an iota of it.

I had realised toxicity could camouflage itself often, often in the form of a friendship we have treasured, but we’d rather disassociate the veiled toxicity and open ourselves to the validation that we are subjected to. It had been a trait, not forever though, at this age: when hairs have started greying and joints have started to ache, it was no startling revelation for me, for many a month I had been contemplating at letting it go, at scissoring the thread of my relationship with a certain person which was held together by judgements, and mere judgements only.

They say, ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’; well, he did live up to it, but it came with a set of notions, his notions, which I had gotten used to, I had been adhering to them for long. This was perhaps the last straw: his judgement of who I was, and it had to be in accordance to what I was when I was 16, he might have failed to notice my greying hairs and my decaying relationship with everyone I was surrounded by.

I was not born perfect, won’t die perfect either, but so far I had been trying to fit in, was trying to mould myself into something I was certainly not capable of, his regret couldn’t be my command, and thus the text, it had to be the end of it. I could no longer drag myself into carrying a burden which was a bag of questionnaires, laden with jibes and mockery. I for once could muster all my courage and end something I had treasured for eighteen long years, the treasury had turned to treachery by now, reminding me every moment of something I lacked, and this is where the never ending cycle of seeking validation had developed it’s roots.

We, evolve, gain life experiences, meet people and add to our perspective on life, we move ahead, at times lag behind; we do it at our pace. We choose the people we like to be with, and this has been a part of the process of evolution. We learn – unlearn and relearn stuff, and we often leave things behind; now, to be judged on the basis of what we were, and what our thoughts were decades ago would seem foolish, I had been naive but not to this extent.

And, thus the realisation: it was time, high time to let it go, my impression on someone is his prerogative, his judgement of me would be to his likening, I have a life to lead, happiness to pursue, I’d rather excuse myself from the trial I had gotten involved in. Life’s no popularity contest, and the pace of it is already too scorching for my ego handling talent to make it through.
It’s been another lesson I stumbled upon, another eye opener, I certainly haven’t greyed my hairs in the sun.

“Speak up, please feel free; I won’t judge you” she said, that was my counselor doing what she did best, making me talk. The ice had to be broken, it wasn’t just an ice; a gigantic ice berg rather. The tip of it now visible to all who knew me, the bummock all within me. It felt heavy as I gathered my guts and repressed self to lay bare all the insecurities that had held the mind captive. Although, the first session didn’t go as planned, with me choking and fighting my tears; I knew for a fact that I had to open up. Perhaps, for the first time in a couple of years I was sensing the presence of people around me who genuinely cared. The struggle of coping with the loss of something I had imagined would stay for life had taken me down to such a low wherein sense and sensibility where just mere terms which had vacated the realms of my now depressed life.

The loss of a relationship was one thing; the loss of reputation was far greater, from celebrating appraisals at workplace to being perceived to be a lethargic and negative individual; I had seen both the bright and dark sides of the moon. My attempts at downplaying the turmoil that was brewing inside all through had sown the seeds of depression that was now threatening to cripple my capacity at trying to be what I had once set my sight on. All in all, the attempts were in vain as by now I had realized my failure at holding up, my pretense at trying to be strong had just thrown me into a pit which now resembled a black hole; there seemed no escape and there wasn’t one.

Cut to where I was: initially there were apprehensions; ‘What if people got to know that I was undergoing counselling’; ‘What would the psychiatrist tell me?’; ‘Was I a mental patient?’.  
The demons now had found a new ally in the form of doubts which were equipping them with more artillery to wage a war against my sanity. War it was, thoughts and convictions had gone for a toss as I literally had to coax myself in dragging my worn-out self to the psychiatrist’s chamber. With my cousin giving me company, I knew there would be someone to hold me if I collapsed.
 

The first counselling session lasted well over an hour, with me breaking down in phases in between, the counselor was considerate enough in not fiddling around with too many questions as she had understood the kind of recluse I had transformed myself into. My issues coupled with the dependence on alcohol did me no favors; I had realized it by the time I had broken down for the first time. There wasn’t any hope but certainly there was this faint bit of belief that I could come out of the mess. I was made to do a couple of breathing exercises that would help me in calming my nerves. I didn’t come out confident, but rather I was relieved that I could finally talk at length about the issues which had infested and infected my mind.

I now look forward, to the next session which is due ten days from now; maybe it’ll further help me in sieving out the negativity which has made home within me. The fiercest of battles I have ever engaged in is with myself, I’ll lay down my arms; for I need to embrace myself, hug myself tighter than I ever did. I and all of myself, need myself more than ever now, I’ll be my own saving grace.

 

P.S: Mental health isn’t something that can be swept under the carpet, coming out in the open about my struggles isn’t an attempt at garnering sympathy; rather it’s about me opening up. Perhaps, someone; somewhere, reading this will connect to it. To anyone who might be feeling drained too, know for a fact that you can slay your demons only when you choose to face them.

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;

**Opening lines from Hamlet,

I write this as I try contemplating, thinking; where I am headed, nothing in sight and a fear lurking inside. A fear of the unknown that’s slowly taking me over, pulling me apart. The demons within feasting upon the thoughts that show no resilience at all. Is this the onset of the calm that will finally prevail? No answers in mind, as I try gauging what the severity might be.

The mind estimates the consequences, as the skies turn grey, fear descending again; the hope that was nurtured in the mind and fertilized by positivity; is barren again, dreams aborted, the demons might have slayed the fetus of whatever good was taking form. The noises in the head growing louder, with their deafening screams shrieking out loud, it’s time to surrender and feel victimized again.
The patience; something that has never been intrinsic, standing in between the all-conquering forces of my own thoughts and my peace. And, this shall be it, the patience will have to subdue whatever comes it’s way, be it the raging chaos or the mighty tantrums of the monsters that are no longer appeasable.

The mind knows the struggle is transient, the soul hanging there; as chaos creeps in, the chill of being brought to reckoning; setting in and, and, and SHE arrives!! Wait, behold, another heartbreak in sight? Who cares?? Let it be, for She is as transient as the soul itself, the knowledge of it all does make the soul feel good as the burden lightens. With her in sight; the words shall find meaning, the raging bulls of chaos will be tamed and the disorder will be sorted. The faith of making it through, and then losing every bit of it; isn’t scary; it’s near perfect so to say. There seems sense in the insanity that would soar in the aftermath of losing sight of her. For now, the delirious mind seeks her; and has her in sight, tomorrow will just be another day; when I’d set out again, seeking her in her light, perhaps in the trail leftover by her presence.

And, She is at it; spreading her calm; her silence ironing out the cobwebs of the mind, titrating the frenzy with order. The demons seem sedated by her light, as their hysteria mellows. She is what she does; with her silence. A blanket of utter sangfroid her demeanor is, her light bickering and burning, and slowly fading away. She set herself in as the frenzied mobbing of the demons came to a halt, and that was it. And, like a streak of lightning; raging thunder and storm, it did rain though; the heavens opened up as serenity descended- she’s gone again; leaving behind the trail of her silence; that makes her up. I’ll follow lead: set on sail again; seek words to put her silence into perspective.

For now, I am at a loss; words are hard to come by; the aftermath maybe; but they will in due time. For I’ll seek again, the afterglow pitching in; as I contemplate. The mind has been sowed with belief; it’ll be harvest soon. Until then, let the monsoon arrive, the clouds of her thoughts will set it in. And, it will rain…

April, the 17th it mentioned; I had to scan my inbox looking for the ticket I held so dearly, I had earlier assumed it were deleted or not saved, but how on earth could I part with it? The first movie we caught up together. I have never been a movie buff, been too impatient and lazy to drag my bum to a theatre and remain glued to a seat for a couple of hours, but then it were She, with her a ‘No’ couldn’t have been the answer, also I had recommended her on watching the film when the trailer first came out. I distinctly remember sipping a black coffee at our favourite café, when the trailer was playing on the muted television set.

“You, you have to watch this movie”; I had said.

“We’ll go together, after Bihu”; She replied

I, wasn’t sure about her plan; She had made multiple plans earlier only to thwart them later. To concentrate on the coffee and the pastry was a better deal, let the time arrive; I thought in my mind.

She called me on the 16th to confirm if we were going for the movie, I said nothing, instead booked the tickets immediately, She cared for the money spent and wouldn’t let it go in vain I knew; why give her a chance to drop her plan; with her mood swings one never knew what was to come; it often blew hot and cold at the same time.

The movie didn’t interest me initially, all that I was looking forward to was meeting her; I had never in my life been so much into someone; I could make excuse after excuse to get to see her; that was all that mattered. A movie meant sitting beside her for a couple of hours at least, and who knew if a dinner would follow.

I was late, I was so much in a hurry to make it to the theatre on time that I forced the cabbie to violate a signal, the traffic cop pulled him aside, but you know how things work here. A bit of buttering and sweet talk and we could move ahead, to make it in the nick of time was a huge relief, She wasn’t impressed though. She and her friend were waiting for a good 15 minutes, I didn’t mind being rebuked if it were She. I still miss the moments when She would go berserk and start blabbering as if She didn’t care a dime, but She did; venting out too often made her the person She was. It kept her grounded too.

The movie was slow, really slow; a classic it was. A tale of love and loss; a tragedy I hadn’t seen for years. Love, loss and longing. The guy caring for his lady as if nothing else beyond her existed, as She lied on her death bed, I hadn’t been moved by anything being shown on the big screen as such for a long, long time. And, tears started flowing. This is why I avoid watching movies with people, I tend to get extremely emotional if I connect with any of the characters, empathy maybe. She looked amused on seeing me cry, She laughed and joked, called me a kiddo, passed me tissues and pulled my cheeks. It felt cute, it felt good but nothing could disconnect me from the trauma the lead was going through. It pained, it hurt and I kept on choking as I held my tears. She wiped my glasses so that the screen didn’t blur. I was sobbing all the while.

“It is so difficult to handle you”; She remarked, after the movie. Yes, it is; always has been; I knew. But then, She handled me rather well. No one else could calm my nerves as She would. And, as I write this piece, I take a long pause; breathe and take a look at the box which She gifted me; a box full of night jasmine flowers, now dry and turned brown. I wish, I could go back in time; sob and weep. I’ll keep the box safe, I’ll keep her within me.

It’ll be October soon, the Night jasmines will bloom again.