Imagination Indulge #1

I did all that I could.

No one could tell me I didn't try. That weekend, when he invited his colleagues over, I slaved in the kitchen for days before, in preparation. I looked up recipes on the internet, followed them by the word, and created marvels, if I may say so myself. They appreciated it, I could see it on their faces, though they didn't say much to me. And that night he complained that I didn't make enough conversation with his friends. Dumb, he called me. And what about the time when Mahesh called from Bombay? I don't know what angered him so much. I had to keep the right side of my face hidden from even the maid for almost a week after that. Mahesh had only called to say he was getting married. Maybe he should have just sent across an invitation by post. But then I had called Mahesh back when it was decided that I would marry - Him. him. I remember being so excited.

And I tried. On our anniversary, I decorated the entire house, prepared my best dishes and wore my best dress. I was excited to give him all the gifts I had brought. I waited for him till 2 the next morning, when he arrived. Alcohol Odoured, Odious. Within a few minutes he passed out on the living room couch. He never knew, of my preparations, or of our anniversary.

I really did try. You had told me once. Real strength is in knowing when to give up and when to hold on. I held on. For as long as I could flap my arms and stay afloat in that drowning sea. But today, I must give up. And I know. I know I can stretch this attempt no further.

And I'm scared, Pa, of the world outside. Of what the world will say. Of what You will say. I hope you get this letter before I arrive. I do not know how to face you now that I have given up. I do not know how to say these words to you.

Love.

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I acknowledge that my posts are getting increasingly dismal :) Trying to tune my imagination, and as I said here, I thrive on grief when I write ;) Allow me my indulgence while I work how I can switch to better emotions..or none at all.

Enlightenment #3: Grief is good for me.

"A dull yet persistent ache, from where I suppose the heart is," said someone. "That's how it feels."

Being sad makes me want to write. Oddly enough. More of my posts are products borne out of some amount of sadness lurking in some corner, than are not. Of course, a rare few have been penned rather gleefully, and those I can count on my fingers - of one hand only.

But it always makes me feel better. Writing therapy, you may call it. You may even write it. (Sigh.) Almost equivalent to the diary I had when younger. I still have it, two of them actually, with a little lock by the side. I treated it like a secret friend, and would revel in telling it all that happened in my life. [It even had a name, but I'm guessing that's one detail too much! ;)] And selfishly enough, as life went on, which it does, I began to turn to the little locked diary only as and when I felt sad. Pour my heart out, as it may be, and even gift it a teardrop or two. But I'd emerge feeling more lighthearted after the exercise.

This blog is what I turn to now, much to the distress of readers, which is when the periodic Vague Post gets churned out :) But thankfully I have the good sense to not confide in the world. By world, I obviously mean the small subset of the small circle of people I know that actually read this blog, and some that I know not.

Confide or not, there is something therapeutic in writing. Writing anything. And I urge you to try it.

Oh, and grief is good. Why? Because I believe it inspires me to write. And brings out parts of me that I rather like. :) That being said, inflicting grief on me may not be the best birthday gift right now :) I still would choose happiness over likeable parts'o'me. Gift me a book or somethin'. But like my friend says, 'Maybe a tear to keep you human.'

Between Today and Tomorrow.

He woke that morning, excited, elated. He had decided to give this another try. He would celebrate the day, celebrate what he had. A loving family, something to do everyday, creativity, someone.

Today was the day. He was going to do it. He would now sacrifice without question. He would show them that they could trust him again. That he was a dependable adult, responsible in action.

The first thing he would do was tell them all the truth. Today. That would be the first and most significant step. Once he had done that, conquered that mountain of a feat, everything would fall into place. He would rest without guilt. Without a pricking conscience. Yes, he would do that. They would all understand. Mistakes are part of being human. They know that, they make 'em too.

Alright then, lets gather up the courage. Not an easy task it was. Come to think of it, he wasn't much used to speaking his heart to most people. Why was that? He reflected on his life and how he failed to speak about important things, when it was most needed. Baring one's heart should have been made a course in school. Compulsory. How to talk about what's on your mind. Of course, some of his friends would've aced the course. That pony-tailed girl in class 9. His best friend in college. He was very often rather taken aback by their unabashed sentimental honesty. What did it take, he wondered, to be like that? A little more courage, a little less shame at feeling the way one does, he reckoned.

Courage, he remembered, that he now needs, to tell Them things that they might not want to hear. Would they really understand? Maybe it will only make things worse. What one does not know, does not hurt, went the old cliched adage. But it would make things better, he had reasoned it all out. The first step to better things, he reminded himself. But then, did he really have to? Was it worth it?

Maybe I'll tell them tomorrow, came a thought. Yes, tomorrow I will. Just not today.