My new hobby

Is to think about you,
I search for the tiniest of our memories
in the remotest corners
stringing them along in
a new narrative
every day
every night
like a mini theater in my head,
I watch the same films,
same characters,
same scenes,
reach the same conclusion.

My new hobby
is to have imaginary conversations with you,
even though mostly,
in reality,
you spoke too much
and I didn’t at all
but now I say it all;
your part
my part –
things we would have never said
things we would have never done,
You are so painfully interesting in my imagination
I long
and I long
wishing that you are near and real,
knowing perfectly that if you are with me
all your imperfections are real too.

My new hobby
is to idealize you
and then to wonder how you aren’t ideal in fact,
my new hobby
is to clutch your memories close to my heart
where no one can steal them,
my new hobby
is to wonder
whether to tell
or not to tell;
What even?
Why even?
How even?
Rather be insane
with my mental conversations
and everyday retinal movie screenings
than to awkwardly reveal my secrets to you,
What to do?
What to even expect?
I am scared that in the end, you will only judge and reject.

Nevermind though,
You are and you will still be in my thoughts.
Silent suffering,
Mysterious rejoice,
It seems that’s my new hobby.


Somewhere in the Universe

“You have nothing to say to me?” you asked, sounding a bit surprised.

I looked at you and my head jolted me with a series of flashbacks of numerous diary entries, self-conversations and monologues.

It’s not like I have nothing to say to you. Perhaps I have a million things to say to you. But I can’t say anything. You can’t say anything, despite being a writer?  Writers are the ones who struggle the most for the right words! Of course I don’t have words to say it! But are there really any confessions or accusations I would like to make? No. I am a blank chit, devoid of emotions. I am not generally like this. You know how I am! I am brimming with all kinds of emotions most of the time. Sometimes, it’s so overwhelming that it gets quite out of control. I have pictured this conversation so many times in my head and every time in every single scenario, I had no words to say to you. Why? You might ask. It’s not like I have not been hurt by you. Maybe I am still in denial and I am not willing to truly accept it. Maybe I am not that hurt and I want myself to be hurt just to know what heart-break tastes like. I have no definite answer for that. But you give me nothing but indifference and all these fictitious conversations in my head. Each day I am colder and more aloof. However, I still remember – You. I don’t know how I do that. I am sure you never intended this. Well, of course, you never intended this! But to be honest, your intentions don’t matter anyway. I know what I meant to you – Nothing! And there is nothing wrong with that. When I think about you, I never consider my own judgment or perception or my own state of mind/heart; I become you or whoever I think you are. And from your point of view, my meaninglessness in your life makes perfect sense. That’s why maybe I don’t have anything held against you. If am zero for you, well, I am a zero. I don’t mind being like that. It’s refreshing in a way. Obviously if I had any choice, I would definitely like to change that. But I can’t do that. It’s your life. You are the protagonist. Protagonists have their own characteristics; they don’t follow a writer’s rule! They make their own rules! I have nothing to say to you because you still mean so much to me and I can’t really confess that without you being offended. Offending you would be a delight but I have no energy for that neither the will. Maybe what you’d feel is not offence but guilt and then you’d ask for my forgiveness. How can I forgive you if I don’t even have an answer for whether at all I had ever been hurt? I have nothing to say to you because in my head I have said it all. There are things that I remember. There are things that I have forgotten. There are things that I am grateful for. There are things that I am sorry for. In my life you would always have a value despite my failure in gaining the same in yours. It’s not a shame. It’s a tragic beauty. But I can’t say it, at least not in a way that makes sense to you or even to me.

“No” I nodded as I nervously glanced down at my wrist watch and eagerly waited for time to pass by. You glanced at your watch too. “Is there anything you would like to say?” I asked trying to ease the awkwardness. I received a familiar nod from you. We both looked at each other with artificial smiles pasted on our faces and secretly acknowledged that this was indeed the last time we were (not) enjoying each other’s company. And yet, I saw the fireworks in the background at our last good bye as if conveying that even our last miscommunication and small insignificant mis-story had the capability to create a minuscule impact somewhere in the universe.


A different line of thought

Maybe what I need is a complete irrevocable silence or maybe in a less depressing way, just a different line of thought.

Different line of thought, you know,  where I don’t think about what I will be doing in future and I don’t ask the same to you, where we don’t get sentimental about these things, where we don’t make suggestions keeping the other’s best interests in our hearts and quietly scrapping the others advice down ourselves, where we don’t talk about universe, share our whatever little knowledge of quantum physics, contemplate a little more on the existence of god and arrive on the same fucking conclusion every fucking time. Or you know we don’t talk about that god forsaken liquid – alcohol! About the things we have and haven’t done after gulping it down our throat. About that wild night you don’t remember, how you don’t remember kissing that super cute guy and how super awkward that was, how you called everybody you knew and proposed each one of them, how you did all those weirdest things and now you can’t help but tell all these stupid incidents flushed with so much pride? This much pride for what exactly?

Never mind! I don’t want to know. I don’t want to keep meandering around the same old topics forever and ever – stuck with our narrow fucking mind, of which we are not aware yet and hence we are just sitting here talking about some supposedly intellectual liberal out-of-the-box shit while actually what we are simply doing is just deluding ourselves into being something we are not. How can you call yourself broadminded if you have the same bullshit perspective for yourself for the rest of your life? Ugh. Anyway, I am stuck here while you are talking and I am listening to these weird thoughts of mine. I shouldn’t be rude but can you please allow me to be mean today? Can I stop you in the middle, if you don’t mind? Because, no, I don’t want to know how you went to that trek once and how amazing it was and how drastically that changed your life. I would love to know the before and after! How did it change your life? Tell me. Are you sure the experience even brushed past you? You say you are a different person now, how? Please tell me!  I would love to hear that. But then you won’t. You would stop at the word amazing. That’s it. Ah, no, no, no, don’t start with those again; the 90’s, the childhood shows or ads or the 9th Chapters of Biology books or that mainstream TV series or the movies that I haven’t watched but I need to or the novels that I haven’t read but I need to and vice versa. Let’s definitely not talk about the people we have been interested in. Why does it always have to circle back to our love lives? Please, I can’t handle thinking about them. Nope. Don’t bring up my hobbies either. Let’s scrap every normal way to have a conversation. Yes. So, don’t you dare bring in food into our dialogues either! The best adjective that we are ever going to use for the best food we have ever had is “really good”. Really good? There it is – the proud display of our limited vocabulary, all the words of Wilfred Funk that we mugged up so passionately are down the drain of our brains. And the best adjective we are ever going to use for the worst we have ever had is – it was okay. Okay. We don’t have to use fancy words if we can’t but we can still create strong sentences like tasting the plastic filled with rotting vegetables or eating a suitcase full of vomit or something, right?  But we won’t. We won’t ever be that harsh! We will always stick to this abused word – ‘okay’. We need to change this. We need to stop using these hollow adjectives – these adjectives that have no reasons attached to them, which have no opinions, which are such pathetic diplomatic little pathways into the neutral zone. Neutral zone, Ah! That wretched zone! The turquoise ink dictionary defines neutral zone as the safest zone of all – a place especially designed for people who like to reside in a blissful shelter built lovingly with thousand layers of pretense and customized bricks of ignorance. It’s the place that is inhabited by the kind of people who, when spotting two people engaged in a dangerous fight, would light up a cigarette and watch. They would observe their moves, make notes about it, maybe write a book on it but no they won’t try to stop the fight and most of all they would never ever take a side and engage in the fight themselves. They are the kind of people who would glorify the victor among the crowd who are mourning the loss of the defeated and who would sympathize with the loser amongst the crowd that’s celebrating the victor. The kind of people, who would unfortunately, fortunately never mix facts with opinions, the invisible mob, the real evil players residing everywhere easily adapting like the water taking the shapes of containers. People like us! People whom, when told that they are loved, would merely respond by a “Hell. You can’t possibly!” and run the fuck away. People who always dream of being passionate, of being a romantic but they never are able to be one because they are stuck in this zone and they have caged themselves in, swallowed the keys themselves.


But, maybe we can crawl out of this miserable place. Maybe we think that all doors are closed but what if they are not? What if there are unlocked doors just a mere accidental push away and we just need to roam around with a different route and breathe in a less panicky pattern of breathing. How though? You might ask, how can you have a novel thought with the same room, same office, same cubicle, same seat at the bus, same food in the canteen, same routine, same people, same faces, same stories, same Google searches, same playlist, same Facebook newsfeed and same fucking person staring back in the mirror every day? How do I expect to gain a new perspective?


Maybe, this is why I am putting so much pressure on this conversation to be so mind blazingly different. It’s not fair on you I guess. And I am sorry; you don’t have to be so original just to have a conversation, of course. I understand. But what about me?  All my self-talks are similar! I would really appreciate some different trajectories there at least! It’s not an unreasonable demand, dear brain, when you think of it. I am tired of having the same conversations with you. Same pitiable memories of the past, same proud moments, how I don’t like cats, how I almost fell in love once, how I liked Salman Khan once , how I used to fall sick all the time, how I still do, how office is always okay, how all ice creams are just nice, how my siblings teased me, how they still do, how Richard Linklater is amazing, how Brad Pitt is too beautiful, how I am always ALWAYS listening to Coldplay, how I love writing, how I would like to be a writer but do nothing about it! How boys are stupid, how I am stupid, how world is stupid, how there’s boredom everywhere, how I hate life! Come on! I don’t want to talk about this shit. This all ends in the same way, in me standing in the middle of a crossroad, so lost. Can we change this for a day at least?

So, what’s the solution?

Good question.

Discover yourself! Meditate! Travel! Read! You know that kind of stuff, the kind social media is stuffed with!

And those are the only Clichéd-as-fuck, bleached-down-to-the-roots solutions? Are there no alternatives? What if you can’t afford to do these? What if you have tried these and it hasn’t worked? What then? Are you pretty much screwed, forever?

No, there must be alternatives, I am sure. Don’t you think? There must be alternatives. Maybe we just need to look at all this in a fresh way.