Diary of a Lost Wanderer

 **Trigger Warning - Domestic Violence, Abuse ** Picture (C)  Sydney Sims   @fairytailphotography Kalpana lay there motionless long after Rajiv had left the room. Her mind went back to the time when it had all started. It was just a few days after their marriage. All the guests had left and it was only them now. Kalpana was nervous yet excited as she made preparations for breakfast that morning. She carefully laid out the table having made everything of his choice – the way he liked it. She remembered her mother and aunts telling her “ The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach .” How many pains had her mother taken to ensure she learnt to cook all types of delicacies! Though a little bit unnerving for her at the beginning she, later on, realized that any task done with love got returned with love. Hence she had consciously made an effort to know Rajiv’s favourite dishes and learnt them very nicely.

Noorie stopped in her tracks while getting dressed up to go out. A crumpled piece of paper from her pocket had brought along an avalanche of memories. Just a normal day, just a normal outing and just her old favourite pair of jeans was now turning into an abnormal day.  A bill dated 26th June from her favourite coffee shop stared back at her as she opened the washed piece of paper and strained her eyes to read more. 26th June, that date got struck in her head. That was the day she had shared her last cup of coffee with him. As they walked out of the café hand in hand, he had met with a terrible accident which didn't injure him physically but he fainted on the road much to her dismay.

Source: quotesgram.com "Where is Baba?" Amayra asked immediately after entering the house. "He is watching some documentary on the television." Her mother replied nonchalantly before going back to the kitchen.

Image Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=doJJY0QQyIs It's been more than a year I have been writing these confessions and it somehow feels very therapeutic. Starting from my addictions to all the fist fights at the college, writing them down has helped me see myself in a different light.

Source: Google Images I met today long after our story had ended. For a moment I could almost feel those strong arms around me hugging me tightly trying to shield me away from every trouble of this world. I could see that smile which my presence brought every time on his face and then suddenly I remembered what I have is memories of someone that he was... not of someone who he is. 

" Ananya if you don't listen to me and become a bad girl I will leave you and go away ." Even after 20 years she could still hear her mother's terse voice clearly. And today when Rajeev was just talking about his opinion on one of her actions she automatically heard the unsaid too "...I will leave you and go away ." It was wrongly said. Ghosts of the past never die. They continue to haunt you forever.

Today I cried because finally I couldn't recognize you. I couldn't find the person I had loved and revered. Instead I saw a person who didn't know the language of love and had never known sentiments. Till date I was standing on the periphery of is and was. But today I finally took the plunge and embraced was for is had become unbearable now.

" I have a past.. ." He managed to whisper finally. "So what? We all do. It is from those ruins of the past that we build mansions of our future. " I replied.  I had been trying to get him open up since long but he simply refused to speak. These four words was the first thing he had spoken in last one hour and it didn't help in any manner. It felt like some cryptic message waiting to be decoded. Working as a counselor this wasn't something new to me, what was new was his calm demeanor.  He had been here since last 2 weeks, brought in by a caring friend who had seen severe suicidal symptoms in him and wanted to save his life. Save his life, we did. All of together. What none of us could do was understand his life. He simply refused to open up to what was gnawing him till today when finally I had managed to enter his good books as a confidante and finally he whispered to me, " No... my future is held as a captive by my past who is threat...

I saw him struggling to get up from his bed today, his wobbly feet unable to hold onto his weight. Shaking, he somehow managed to reach the kitchen counter to make tea. His hands were trembling as he added sugar and milk to the boiling water. 

Source:  pimminag.com Somewhere in the dusty corners of my room lies a bookshelf. Disheveled, it holds my life within. Hidden far ahead in the corner is a yellowed diary with dog eared pages.  If you flip through it you will reach a page where few petals of a rose are held. That’s me, waiting for you.  I die a slow death everyday pining for you like them and yet survive hoping you would find this diary someday and know what you mean to me.

My mind was like a carbon paper. Every thought that crossed it, left an inedible mark. I was thirty, so you can imagine the amount of thoughts my mind would have gathered till now. Even the counselor was surprised when I could narrate a childhood incident with equal ease like that of yesterday night’s dinner.   “ No wonder you have had a nervous breakdown! It’s a case of system over load. “  “ What do I do? I cannot forget anything. “  “Don’t worry your system has started doing that now. As it is running out of space to store memories it has begun to not save any new memories. ” 

Source:  commons.wikimedia.org What if I had not told you how I feel about us that night! Perhaps we would still have been together.  Perhaps life would have still been the same for us, existing together under the same roof. Existing for me and living for you!  Perhaps that piece of paper with a red stamp that is lying on my desk waiting for me to sign it, would have not existed at all.  Maybe the unsaid words that have been interpreted by our own choices and the ones said, had not hung so uncomfortably between us today.  Maybe I could have averted the constant stares I attract now whenever I go out.  Maybe the hurt I feel in my heart every night as I cry myself to sleep wouldn’t have shown any signs of healing ever. Maybe the scars on my body, mind and soul would have merged together finally to make a chaotic collage of me.  Maybe I would have died a bit every single say till the time there was nothing left in me to...

Since the time I could remember I was in love with sketching. As a kid I have fond memories of colouring the walls of my house with random scribbling. As I grew up I learnt the art of sketching, polished it further and finally became an artist, a tattoo artist ; for I saw the whole world as my canvas, open, inviting, asking me to come hither and paint them with my vivid imagination.  Source:  tattoo-butterfly-news.blogspot.com

And today once again I remembered you. Nothing special, off late everything and anything reminds me of you.  Today it was the sunlight playing with the leaves of this tree that reminded me of you. It somehow felt just like your touch, that tenderness with which you would caress my hair as I lay in your lap for hours together without a worry about anything in the world.

Source:  thebestshayaricollection.blogspot.com “ My hair looks so unkempt. It is as if a rat has nibbled them away to glory. ”  “ No my princess! They look as if you have been on a long camping tour in the hills and just forgotten to cut your hair .”  She giggled listening to this as he bent to kiss her forehead. They knew her illness was robbing her away of all that she felt was hers, her flawless skin, silky hair and her never ending energy but they also knew that the illness couldn’t rob her of what was hers for keeps, he and his love.

The thunderous applause in the hall refused to die long after she had reached the center stage. She had recently won the Booker Prize for her recent book, one of the many that she kept winning on and off. The emcee asked her suddenly, “ You are going to celebrate your 55th birthday next month. We are happy to have witnessed you but are sad that your legacy will end with you .” 

Source: http://fallenpastor.com/ Jagdish returns from work early that day. He sits on the cot unlike his daily habit of going for a bath. His wife Santosh looks at him inquiringly if he is unwell or something. He replies, “ I am just tired, need some rest .” He lies down on the bed and tries to close his eyes but the happenings of the day don't leave his mind. The faint image of that woman clutching his feet, begging him to not do it is still so clearly etched in his mind. He had never felt so helpless. There was nothing he could do except just execute his duty.

Source: Google Images She kept staring at him with desire in her eyes long after he had gone. A desire to be his, to be next to him every night as his heartbeats lulled her to sleep, to be the answer to every question his heart asked, to be his desire, to be his – one which might just remain a desire as she kept looking for that desire in his eyes and never found. The ultimate truth remains that the very heart that teaches you the meaning of love sometimes hurts you the worst and yet is the only medicine to your hurt. P.S: This is written for a very dear friend of mine who recently underwent something similar. Unrequited love in all its ugliness, still doesnt take away the beauty of love - being it in and experiencing it, in full glory.