Potholes Amounting the Entire Journey

Haven’t felt well, life is falling around in shambles. I somehow get to know why desperation drives some people to cross the line and end their lives…..it is desperation or lack of hope. Standing at the crossroads, not having things working out, having even the tiniest of hope dashed, to have your shortcomings shoved into your face. Whatever doesn’t work is for the better? But what is there anything that’s works out really? I am scared of getting used to people and things, so I take a lot of time in accepting them in my life. But when I eventually do, I end up losing them. why do I feel that, in a cyclic process, I end up standing where I exactly started? After decades and years of struggle? Why am I always a temporary stop enroute to somewhere? Why am I, never, the destination? While for me, only potholes amount the journey.

Jupiter’s Tear Drops

 Death you can’t rationalize, suicidal death is something even further from the realm of reason, logic, comfort. The day she ended her life is the start of the rest of the life for the rest of her family, where not a day would pass when her parents

most beautiful suicide

http://www.kottke.org/08/07/the-most-beautiful-suicide

 would not think about her, miss her – the four year old child she left behind, who was unable to understand what was going on, the siblings who needed her as much as she needed them. She was entrapped in an illness that was in mind and soul and spirit and not in body. There were bright moments of laughter, jokes, plans, comfort….and then there were the dark moods, the out of control behavior, which hurt all those around her. In yester years, she bagged a gold medal, stood first in public service commission exams, and in the latter years, her mind and body were reduced to a ticking bomb, filled with pills that just weren’t working. Nothing did…undersatnding, patience and pleas of those around her. And I am recounting the rehearsed line again and again to all those who are inquiring (and telling myself) that she died in her sleep peacefully from heart failure. There is this whole stigma surrounding her circumstances that needs to be avoided, the speculations about faith or the lack of it, or after life and soul, which I feel that I don’t have the right to judge.”She died in her sleep peacefully from heart failure.”I too want to believe that, blot the horror of what actually happened from my memory.   

 

 

 http://www.kottke.org/08/07/the-most-beautiful-suicide

Update: I am amused at which part of “the family has expressed its wish to mourn the death in private with close family members only”, “they don’t want to be disturbed”, “I am not priveledged to share their contact numbers”, “they would be available once they are back in the city” people don’t understand. Space should be given, the need for space should be respected, I think. And people, sometimes, exhibit this smothering tendency of love and concern. I have been asked nearabout three dozenth time in the course of the past few days, if I have talked with the family, and have been advised everytime that it’s really not the time to honour their wish, I should keep calling them after every two hours, asking them how they are feeling and if they need anything, or that so and so has been asking….I am tired and emotionally exhausted myself, in chanting the poltically correct statment myself, in hearing the umpteen lectures on “their need to get back to normalcy and come to terms with the death, and the part I should play in calling them up, each member, after every two hours.” People should be given the space to come to terms with certain things, if it is possible, at all. We can be there, but we shouldn’t intrude and we shoudn’t lecture about things, the magnanmity of things we don’t realize/know, the hurt we don’t have a friggin idea. But we are too confident that only we know the best, only we understand everything.

The Ticking HourGlass

I v lost my third wrist watch in the course of 6 months (slipped off and dropped somewhere), and I am not buying any new one, there has to be some stopping to this accursed cycle of losing things. All of them were gifts from parents and aunts and uncles (the tolerable ones), so they had meaning. This was the first gift i recieved on my 13th birthday, a proper, branded wrist watch, selected from a swanky showroom. I was the first girl to have a watch in my class. I used to wear it whenever i was leaving home. Although, my internal clock functions quite alright in giving me a sense of time, yet having soemthing on the wrist was a habit. I never could understand how people manage themselves when they are not wearing watches, or how they use their mobile phones to check time. I can’t help noticing thw watch on a guy’s wrist, or it’s absence.

 I look at the wrist and see the faint tan line of the watch’s chain. I miss it and i wonder why i am losing my wrist watches and why the housekeepers didn’t return it when they return other more expensive items when they find it. I can’t help but wonder the symbolic significance of it. Am I running out of time? Or should I stop caring about time altogether? Or are better times due?

 P.S.: My messenger nick these days is Bawli Amma. Don’t ask me why…..

timeless