Your Insistence Is Adorable.

Everything in the vastness of space is in a state of perpetual motion. Every tiny speck and every gigantic object that exists because several such tiny specks came together... everything, is moving. Shaking. Hovering. Vibrating. From the tiniest electron revolving around the nucleus of an atom to a huge star in a galaxy eons away. It is all moving, gently and crazily. Silently. And I am sitting here, still; suspended in all that motion. Waiting to be lifted. Waiting to be moved or removed by an unseen force. I am the glitch in the system, the nut that refuses to rotate while the rest spin in wild, silly circles. I am right in the center of a moving world, stationary. Useless.

I can see you, sense you, reading me, following me around. Trying hard to decipher me and my struggle. Putting such great effort in thinking about my past and my future. And I don’t even know about my present. I see you trying to visualize my story, trying to adapt it, picture yourself in it.

“What happens? What happened?” I hear you ask yourself, incredulously, as you turn another page to my story, as you see me running from the horrors of an unexplained monster. Running in vain. I see you crease your forehead, run your tongue over your dried lips, change your drooping posture, so that you won’t get tired. So that you’ll be able to read a little more without interruption. Your insistence is adorable.

You are tired. You didn't sleep all night, you were so engrossed in reading me, thinking about my story and tweaking your perspective as you moved further, word by word. I was there with you, without you realizing. I was watching you enthralled by a story that wasn't even your own. So I asked myself why you did that? Why did you hurt yourself over someone else’s tale? Cry over another’s pain, laugh at someone else’s joy? Why do you sit here, your eyes following me, your mind wrapped about me, when your own story remains abandoned, unwritten?

I've chosen to be the glitch. To stop, to drag on so that you’d become agitated. So that you’d put me you aside for a moment and look around and see what your own world has come to. The ignorance of your own reality so that you can indulge in mine is flattering. But I realize I've been doing the same. Trying to indulge in your story, figure you out while you try to decode mine. I've been trying to stop you from interpreting me, all the while looking forward to your reactions when you finally unveil my end. All the while we've been simultaneously reading one another, embracing tales not our own. We are linked this way, you see.

So, when I see you handling me with such care, adoring the curve of each word, cherishing the way every scene of my story falls into the other, melding beautifully and unlocking a mystery, I melt. I see your eyes shining at my happiness, you cheeks wet at my sorrow, I never realized I became so much to you. And I never grasped how focused a part you became of mine. After all, without you I am just a dying script, drying ink that will eventually fade to nothing. But you never let that happen. You've treasured me, spending so much time with me and thoughts about me when I wasn't even there with you. You became the lips that spoke my story, the syllables were written but you sought people and shared them. And I have come to realize now that I fell in love with you every time you opened my story, over and over again just to share my repetitive joys and tears one more time. And each time when you held me carefully before giving the story to a friend and whispering a loving, ‘Take care of it’.

And I have fallen for you each time I heard your sigh of relief when you once again held me in your hands.

-Momina.

*This piece has been written keeping this in mind: 

As The World Went On Without Them...

A hundred followers. Thank you, all! I am grateful to you all for reading and appreciating! 

For my sisters. 

There is something increasingly tranquil about sitting inconspicuously in a corner, from where you can view everyone, but draw little attention to yourself. Notice people, approaching or going their own ways, watching people, noting their ways. And just like that they sat there, two, who couldn't be more different, peacefully looking out to the world as it went on around them, without them.

There is something extremely joyous about walking bare foot on the wet grass, as you feel the green tingling your feet, under the night sky as you roam aimlessly, wandering off before turning to face the world again. You are so close to nature, so earthy, so content. And just like that, they walked those slightly damp lawns. Three pair of feet, wandering away but together, three pairs of shoes hooked on each one’s hand, as the world went on behind them, without them.

There is something awfully hilarious about being cross with the world, how one shuts himself, secluding, feigning ignorance to all those around. But actually they stare, inwardly they laugh, and how beautiful if you can share! And just like that, they lay there, four faces so dissimilar, lost in a world of their own that they share. They curse the darkness that has come with the hurricane yet connected them all in a way they haven’t been in a while. And so they share, four perspectives so unlike as they make a vision identical as the world goes on, outside, without them.

There is something exceptionally beautiful about sitting together sharing a personal joke and taunting one another. It’s about being so close, knowing the other well enough, that jokes don’t hurt and funnier they seem with every minute, no matter how pointless they are. And just like that they laughed, a chorus of five distinct giggles, making the most of these shared moments, the late night forgotten. They chuckle and chortle as the world sleeps about them, without them.

-Momina.

The Drug of Joy

 I have been out in the cold for far too long, I cannot even feel the cold anymore. It seems like anything that can chill me now is perhaps warm air, as the chilly breeze-that is getting colder every minute- is having no apparent effect. Rather it's like a drug that is slowly working itself into my bloodstream, not hurting me except that I can't feel my toes and finger any more. I can't hear much either as everything is reduced to a hum that is slowly lulling me into a trance. Far off at the edge of my vision the lights blink in contrast and somehow they beautifully synchronize with the beat of the hum in my ears. Unconsciously my foot starts tapping along to the perfect scenery of blinking lights in the dark horizon. I sit there for what seems like an eternity fighting the urge to get up and shout aloud. My senses however refuse to obey the commands my brain keeps sending and I sit as if drunk staring at the lights, tapping…singing. My spirits are high but my mind numb, my body moves yet I feel naught. I want to trace the sky and leap for the hazy clouds. I spin around in circles giving ecstatic shouts, I want to glide down rainbows and more, all before this crazed fever runs cold, till then I want to let go…

-Momina.

Being a 'me'

There is a pleasure in passing through pathless woods, a sweet pain in getting lost; a pleasant thought of getting away. Leaving everything behind and escaping unnoticed, as if dreaming.  Enjoying the acquaintance of complete strangers and for once letting go truly because there will be none to judge you, call you or remind you of the seemingly endless duties.

Patiently enjoying the company of one’s self because in that moment nothing matters.  You can speak when you want to, avoid what you wish to and conduct your heart with peace.  Sitting loud and lone like a distant sea shore, devoid of tensions and pains. Smiling at self control and weeping for one’s desire. And when it’s all calm and clean you can go back to being a ‘me’.

Momina.