My best friend had just come back from her workshop in Pune. It was a long week (or two) without her and as soon as she stepped back in town, we met at a local franchise of KFC. It was their homecoming of sorts. She was as overtly amicable and as obvious as it'd seen, had made good friends during that one week, and inevitably over time they would be my friends as well. 

Rupa was one of them.

I was standing in a longer than usual queue at the restaurant with our mutual friend, Sid, trying to get a good round-up of all the events that ensued in the past one week.  The group had too many stories to tell- the way it would paint the next three of years of my life with the best of memories. There were stories about late night music, about sneaking out into the terraces after perm time, about alcohol or lack of it, about a teacher that just loved Palla- none of it seeming too new to me.

What I noticed distinctly through our conversations though was that Rupa stood there, silently behind me in the line. His interactions were different, he took time to open up but after he was comfortable, he was unstoppable. This would remind me a little about myself. It was the first time that I had met him. And as weird as it seems to mention it, he had the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen in a guy and I had to let him know.  Around Rupa, there was an air of friendliness which made any conversation easy. He made his presence felt, even in the silence.

To this day, years after our friendship and a year after his passing, I have a very vivid memory of how Rupa's presence filled our lives with more and better of everything- more sunshine, more adventure, more joy, and eventually, unbearable amounts of sadness that would take too many tears and considerable time to heal.

After our first meeting, we would meet, quite often at dinners and lunches when the group was around. When the regularity of these reduced, we met at sleepovers which will always be one of my fondest memories of Manipal.

Rupa had a lot of love to give and receive, specially when slightly drunk. A drunk Rupa would open the door, welcome us in with the warmest of hugs with verbal affirmation of how much he loved us. His hugs were to die for, warmer with the most innocent of loves. To add to it, Rupa owned a smile that emitted intense goodness and warmth. Not once in my thoughts about him can I picture him without that achingly beautiful curve imprinted on his face.  

His face beamed when he spoke of his interests. His sports, specially cricket, his friends, and his love-interest who would later become the love of his life. 

...

(I am unsure whether I can ever finish this. Every time I come back to this, it gets awfully difficult. After all, there are some losses you can never get over.) 

Where to from here?

You are always at crossroads. Of faith, responsibilities, life. There's no proven formula to make decisions that will entirely satisfy any one person or a group of person. There's nothing I see that can satiate our greed.. The want for more.. And then the need for more. I don't know where life is heading at this point. But the horizon seems too hazy.  There are decisions I want to make, but the process of it handicapped by societal conditioning of the people around.

I think to myself everyday and it brings me to a frenzy. What if? What if indoctrication didn't exist?  Indoctrination of any kind.. Of religion, of culture, of values. What would life be if we didn't have to have to fit into an idea of perfect? A perfect daughter, perfect partner, perfect social being..?

It seems at times that its too much to give into. Like I need to break away. Somehow.. Sometime soon. But what if I have already fallen into their trap? Far beyond repair.. Or what if the life I'm carving is far beyond "righteousness" and it's just me who doesn't see it?

Change is constant, change is me.

It doesn't feel like a long hiatus from writing. In my mind I'm constantly stringing words together, and scripting too many parallel universes,  hoping to finally pen them down on a day that doesn't feel shorter than its sunset.

I have sat down on several occasions to write, most commonly to vent and given up on every single chance owing to the in-cohesiveness of  my thoughts. My mind hadn't been idle for a single moment as far as I can trace back into the last year, and given a chance with no questions asked, I could have screamed into an abyss my frustration and hoped it never found its way back.  About patriarchy, about war, about loss of childhoods during war, of relationships, my fear of bereavement and most of all, about the pangs of never making enough of this short stint in earth.

So much has changed for me in the past one year. Ever since granny died, every single day has been spent in her contemplation, in contemplation of death and life in general. In understanding a God that took her away against my will, to whom I prayed, and prayed, and prayed till my nerves numbed and cried, and cried and cried till I could no longer breathe. Fast forward a year, on some days, I'm still broken bones waiting to be glued back together with the adhesive of her presence. The only remnants of her life in mine are the regrets I have of not having been there for her. For feigning ignorance and playing the fool, who survives final-stage cancer?

I started this journey to myself on the day I knew she was suffering from cancer. I needed an oasis, I needed a muse to detour from my depression. I lived with my father who had mastered the art of masking emotions- I had to be his saviour and my own. 

As a result I indulged myself in books- mostly Rumi, in yoga, in writing, design and art, in finding the best cafes in town- spending hours there all by myself, trying to find myself and hoping never to be found the world. I questioned pretty much everything that was put before me. I was unemployed, I had seen my grandmother slowly slipping away into her heaven, and I did not have many to share this sadness with. 

My inward journey began through all of this- a journey for which in two years time I would thank myself. Everything seemed well at times, but on days everything seemed unsatisfying. It took me months of crying to sunsets, but at the end of it I finally found a peace like never before. 

My friend told me a few months back that deep within him was a lake undeterred by the outside world. By people's opinions, inhibitions, judgements and expectations.. Looking back, I had realized the existence of this space within myself. I had begun to be undeterred, to the point of scary undeterred. 

My grandmother was a fighter. A lady who did things only her way. She lived alone, travelled alone, and battled with life (and death) alone. Her loss reiterated to me how short this life is, to hold every passing moment and make it mine, to love people that deserve to be loved with a love like no other, to be fiercely passionate and above all- not to wait for a tomorrow. I started meeting new people, making friends out of my social circles, sharing our lives and stories, building dreams for each other. I started travelling. I started enriching my soul with people and experiences. 

This moment in life, this is the happiest I have ever been. This is the most peaceful and content I have been. On some days, I'm smiling only within myself and that's the only way I want to be seen- with nothing to prove to the world. 

Chandragiri, On your shore is where I'd rather be.

Among the many questions that confuse (and most often, infuriate) me, "Where are you from?" tops the list. Frankly, I have never known. And if I did have an acceptable answer to it, why would it matter to anyone where I really am from?

That being said, I am fortunate to live multiple lives in a single time, mostly owing to the places I come from. I was born in a small town in Kerala, Kasargod and my formative years were spent in Dubai. After my too-big-for-Dubai dreams and other circumstances forced my exit from a closely guarded, protective environment in Dubai, my world expanded so much more once I stepped into a newer home, Mangalore.

Mangalore is not the ideal place to live in, considering how communally sensitive it is (when it is). But still being in its developing stages it is a perfect amalgamation of  the traditional and the modern, which suits all lists of the introvert I am. Looking back, it seems to me that in spite of the love-hate relationship Mangalore and I had over the years, this city has finally won my heart- and the usual answer to where I'm from is Mangalore, if we don't delve into further details that is.

Thekkil, my ancestral village is only a two-hour drive from Mangalore. While my sibling passionately hated life in Thekkil, it being cut-off from most amenities,  I had an insatiable need for regular doses of village life tracing back to as far as I can remember. We never lived in Thekkil after we migrated to Dubai, me at the age of 5 and my sibling at 2 and half years. Only this August, we spent two whole nights at home, ensuing my granny's demise.

Disappointingly, I do not have much travel experience to compare Thekkil's beauty with other places in similar settings. But with some effrontery that I have cultivated over the years, I believe enough to call this place one of the most beautiful villages in Kerala. With a serene river abutting most independent houses, beautiful moonlit nights playing the highlight, towering palm trees all over and a caressing monsoon, I can hardly be proved wrong in this regard.

I can't vouch with statistical correctness, but Thekkil comprises mostly of a young adult population. Most of its middle-aged men are first generation Gulf-toilers, the result of which can be seen in the form of bungalows screaming out all kinds of grandiose. The bigger your bungalow, and the grander your child's wedding function, the more successful you are in life, it seems. This has always put me off.

But in general, the residents here are not overly sophisticated or pompous. As a child, I would often wake up in the mornings listening to the loud noises of domestic discussions in our kitchen that usually hosted them; who is marrying whom and when, who's child just went to the gulf for a new job, who is building a new house, what's for lunch at who's place- life in Thekkil was as transparent as it could have been. Things have changed a little through the years, or so it seems. Or probably it should be attributed to my  growing up, specially being a girl.

While the aforementioned bungalows have huge emphasis laid on the entrance arches and doors, there is rarely any communal activity that happens not involving the rear doors of houses, mostly where the areas that confine women are located. It seems to me now that most of these rear doors are more shut than open and welcoming. Sitting on the porch, at a safe distance from which the river proudly presents itself  as a stage to the moon's reflection, I'm told is a taboo for a 24-year old lady. Too many men and ill-intentional young lads tread those mud roads after all.  It has also been difficult to fake/hide my identity here. Everyone in Thekkil knows everyone from Thekkil.

These are however not major issues to someone whose wild-spirit is still untamed after strenuous effort by a traditionally, conforming, conservative family. You can hardly ever drag me away from the river banks and I sit even on boundary walls, reading books if that's what it takes. I also find the chai that the vendor across the street sells pretty good for the standards of the shop. I wonder how many other women have tasted the same.

The women in Thekkil have chosen a subservient role in their families and largely, in the society. Patriarchal by all means, a woman's role seems confined to their houses, raising the family. Power to them if that is what they wish. But growing up, I have heard of several instances of fathers not wanting to educate their girl children lest they grow up to defy the roles already assigned them. Most kids in Thekkil go to the government school at a short walking distance, where there is absolutely no emphasis laid on quality education, and this is an issue that worries me.

The better part of the story is that I now remain only a visitor to this village. The time I spend here mostly involves quenching my recurring need for its beauty and heeding to a natural affinity towards the little world it houses in itself, and its people. The bitter part is that, there is only a little portion of this beautiful village that leaves me even as I walk away from it.

As I sit in Dubai and write this, it has been only a little over a month since I last visited Thekkil. But Chandragiri, on your shore is where I'd rather still be.

At 23.

There's a war in my head. And I'm not winning.

23? Passion. Aggression. A peace like never before. Far too much love, too much hatred. Wanting to carve a name, etch it on this earth forever. Needing to retreat into my shell.  An incomprehensible love for art. An urge for creation. Inability to focus. 

There's a war in my head. And I'm not winning. 

Of guilt trips and inadequacies.

M,

You are stronger than I will ever be, and lest my tears cause any self doubt in your mind, my existence would be annihilated in spirit.

I cannot fathom the pain you are going through and there are raging wars of guilt and inadequacies in my head. Could I have been there for you longer?  Could I have retarded the pace of the monsters that are you eating you up, little by little? Could I have loved you more? Could I have expressed more?

Time has passed too quick since we last met. But it feels like yesterday, you screaming at me for hiding out at the river banks, lest you lose me for good. What do I scream at for taking you away from me? Forever.

Two months have passed by, and I still die a little inside each day blaming myself for all the things I failed to do. This is not empathy. You don't need my empathy. You have been far too strong to have ever needed anything in life, more so from me, who didn't care enough to be a profound presence!  You bore in silence for far too long, hiding your consuming pain under the mask of a cheerful face, and I failed to see that you were suffering. 

 How did I not see it? Is pain that easy to hide? How did I not know?  How consumed was I in my own world full of materialism chasing things that I will have to leave behind in this world anyway?

Would you forgive me for not seeing through your smile? Should I ever forgive myself?

Is this how life works? That people suffer incessantly, in secret, day after day while others fail to comprehend the extent of their pain and hardships? Does one have to cry out loud about their misfortunes for others to see it? Are we now incapable of reading silence?

I will never have answers to most of this, but when we do meet one day, at a river bank, and when you run to me reprimanding me for being there, my heart will smile knowing your love is far stronger than my failures and inadequacies. 

The one that matters.

I'm far far away in a distant land, and I don't see you anymore.  Not as much I would have desired to.  Not in all your colours and their shades,  not in your details.  But you're with me on my mind,  as you always will be.  A part of you will always live in me, like it does,  reminding me so constantly of our time together.

Tonight feels like one of those nights where I'd ask you to continue speaking, even when you had nothing to say,  only to listen to the vast dimensions of your thoughts.  One of those nights that I would choose to sing for you; you'd join in and I would reprimand you for the incorrectness of the lyrics. Or the night that we strolled along the moonlit shores listening to lethargic waves, letting them whisper their stories as we whispered ours. The night of endless adventures. The night that felt shorter than the conversations we wanted to share.

Tonight there's only gratitude. For being my shore that I lashed my troubled waters at,  the one where we built our castle of memories when nothing else seemed to remain. 

For choosing to walk into my life and being the closest definition of "altruistic love" that I will ever know. For doing everything within your reach,  and beyond to make me happy.

For calling me "sunshine",  even when I brought in more darkness than I should have.

For loving me even in my broken fractions and parts,  when I couldn't find the whole of me. For helping me find myself back,  not closing your doors on me everytime I walked away, for the kindness. 

For allowing me to love you.  For letting me know just how much I could.  For setting the standards high for any other person that will ever enter my life.

I cannot tell you how grateful I am for you.  And how apologetic I am to have caused the pain and the tears- something I can never forgive myself for.

Today is your day,  and if there's anything I want you to know it is that

I love you.

In all your colors and shades. In your most intricate details.  In the purest form of love I have ever felt.