Everything is perfect... and that's scary!
..
I am 25. I have grown from being a girl to a young woman. I look around and at least five people smile at me and tell me what a fantastic person I am. I love them at times. I get carried away at times. I recognize both at times.
Yet.
I turn the other way around.. and another five faces from the past, present and future, stare at me. Their eyes are sad. Some neutral. But they keep staring at me. They tell me am not so fantastic. At times I hate them. Most times, I try to forget about them. But I let them exist.
You may think these two sets of people are very different.
No. I am scared of both.
And at times like these, in the middle of the night, I feel like going back.. to that feel of starch, or at times chiffon. Crispy it was. But a softness.. only I had found.
..
I was a small kid then. I don't think I was as complicated. I couldn't have typed my thoughts so fast then. I didn't even know I would ever blog. I didn't bother. All I cared was, the touch of a cotton saree. To run into it.. hold fast..close my eyes and the smell..
Her hands were never feeble. I knew her every touch. Her every helplessness. Her every pain. Her every thought. Every heartbeat. I knew as she lifted me up...I recognized only too well.. exactly when they didn't feel very strong. I simply knew.
And yet, from those never tiring arms, I drew my greatest strength. I slept to the lullaby that was her voice. Her skin, soft, pillow-like. She smelt of roses. Whatever it was really like, it was called roses in my world.
I used to feel scared of her too. Whenever she would be angry at me. Other people tried to save me from her. But no one knew that the only way I would ever feel OK..would be to be with her. To rest my head on her chest. To get her hug. To feel her sigh. To listen to her heartbeat. Nothing else could secure me.
And yet, I started running away.
As I grew up, I started running away. And fast. I started forgetting to say, I love you. l suspect she did neither. But I maybe wrong. Entirely mistaken. All I do know is, I did forget.
I kept chasing a perfect life. Good work. Good friends. Good standing. Five people to cheer me and say am fantastic. Five people who stare, but those I easily know how to forget, how to ignore.
I fight to make my own destiny. I break hearts. I win battles. I keep moving. Moving ahead. Moving on. I just keep going.
But in the middle of tonight mamma, I suddenly feel scared. Scared of the world that I have created around myself. The perfect world that I have built around myself. Maybe, perfection wasn't what I was made of. Maybe, perfection wasn't what I was made for either. For I scare, despite it. Even perfection, I realize, isn't a perfect feeling.
And now I realize. That Love, is despite. Despite it. And despite the lack of it.
Now I know.
But its too late in the night now. And although I am awake, am not sure if I could wake you up too. If I should. I don't know...
Tell me how do I come to you. You don't wear that crisp cotton saree any longer. I could have easily hugged you then and simply murmured how much I enjoyed its touch. You would have known the reality though. Both of us would have been happy and satisfied. But what do I do now? Maybe its my fault all the way. I don't know. Maybe you left wearing those cottons, after I stopped hugging you. Is that so? Or would I never know?
Sorry Mamma, I forgot to say I love you.
.
..
I am 25. I have grown from being a girl to a young woman. I look around and at least five people smile at me and tell me what a fantastic person I am. I love them at times. I get carried away at times. I recognize both at times.
Yet.
I turn the other way around.. and another five faces from the past, present and future, stare at me. Their eyes are sad. Some neutral. But they keep staring at me. They tell me am not so fantastic. At times I hate them. Most times, I try to forget about them. But I let them exist.
You may think these two sets of people are very different.
No. I am scared of both.
And at times like these, in the middle of the night, I feel like going back.. to that feel of starch, or at times chiffon. Crispy it was. But a softness.. only I had found.
..
I was a small kid then. I don't think I was as complicated. I couldn't have typed my thoughts so fast then. I didn't even know I would ever blog. I didn't bother. All I cared was, the touch of a cotton saree. To run into it.. hold fast..close my eyes and the smell..
Her hands were never feeble. I knew her every touch. Her every helplessness. Her every pain. Her every thought. Every heartbeat. I knew as she lifted me up...I recognized only too well.. exactly when they didn't feel very strong. I simply knew.
And yet, from those never tiring arms, I drew my greatest strength. I slept to the lullaby that was her voice. Her skin, soft, pillow-like. She smelt of roses. Whatever it was really like, it was called roses in my world.
I used to feel scared of her too. Whenever she would be angry at me. Other people tried to save me from her. But no one knew that the only way I would ever feel OK..would be to be with her. To rest my head on her chest. To get her hug. To feel her sigh. To listen to her heartbeat. Nothing else could secure me.
And yet, I started running away.
As I grew up, I started running away. And fast. I started forgetting to say, I love you. l suspect she did neither. But I maybe wrong. Entirely mistaken. All I do know is, I did forget.
I kept chasing a perfect life. Good work. Good friends. Good standing. Five people to cheer me and say am fantastic. Five people who stare, but those I easily know how to forget, how to ignore.
I fight to make my own destiny. I break hearts. I win battles. I keep moving. Moving ahead. Moving on. I just keep going.
But in the middle of tonight mamma, I suddenly feel scared. Scared of the world that I have created around myself. The perfect world that I have built around myself. Maybe, perfection wasn't what I was made of. Maybe, perfection wasn't what I was made for either. For I scare, despite it. Even perfection, I realize, isn't a perfect feeling.
And now I realize. That Love, is despite. Despite it. And despite the lack of it.
Now I know.
But its too late in the night now. And although I am awake, am not sure if I could wake you up too. If I should. I don't know...
Tell me how do I come to you. You don't wear that crisp cotton saree any longer. I could have easily hugged you then and simply murmured how much I enjoyed its touch. You would have known the reality though. Both of us would have been happy and satisfied. But what do I do now? Maybe its my fault all the way. I don't know. Maybe you left wearing those cottons, after I stopped hugging you. Is that so? Or would I never know?
Sorry Mamma, I forgot to say I love you.
.
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