Dark Side to the VIBGYOR!

What Ayesha Thought Part 7

Two months, since I bid farewell to something I’d begun to feel was mine- The sun was shining, it was a pleasant day, almost warm- when I left this place feeling frozen inside. Was I happy I was going back? No, I couldn’t be happy for anything after what had happened to me, but yes I was delighted I wouldn’t be crying in front of him. It’s actually not as terrible as I’m making it sound. I didn’t get raped or mugged; I just had a little jolt of lightening strike my heart.

Honestly, there’d been a metamorphosis. I’d changed. Seen colors in me I never knew existed, and then I witnessed the dark side of the VIBGYOR, the place where my rainbow ended. I know I sound funny being so metaphorical, almost like a poet, a heartbroken poet. So I’ll paraphrase it saying, I fell in love and Love, took the better of me, leaving me vulnerable to everyone and myself.  I cried, cried as much as I could hoping my tear tank would empty by the time it was finally time to return and till an hour ago I was positive I wouldn’t cry. But hey, what’s this familiar heaviness building up inside my chest and the sight of my University? Is that a tear in my eye? No, it’s got to stop. “You don’t have to do this, you’re stronger than this. Remember, who you were, not what you’ve become.” I say to myself over and over again. The tear falls down and I stop another one from following, but the heaviness just won’t go away.

I sipped some water and stepped inside the Uni. No, Dear memories, don’t come back. Stay where you’ve been buried. But the shameless stubborn ghosts, they always return. I cross the ‘Fag Bench’- no there isn’t a place in the Uni called that, it’s just a name I’d kept for the bench where we’d first sit and shared a fag. He hated when I fagged, I loved it when he stopped me.  I feel the urge to smoke, but there won’t be anyone to pull a lit cigarette away from my mouth, so I curb the urge myself. I cross the library, where we’d spent hours, together. As he studied his text, I pretend to be busy blogging or watching a sitcom, wherein I’d secretly been studying him.  There’s a bitter-sweet smile on my face, and I permit the tear that I’s blocked before to flow.  Dragging my bag and baggage forward, I make my way towards my room. But the route isn’t an easy one, there’s a hurdle on my way- his room. I try my best not to look, check if there’s any activity or if Omar had gone back to Pakistan for vacations. And I succeed; I walk past his room without tilting my neck the slightest bit. I can’t do this, I say to myself as I stop walking a few steps ahead of his room. I can’t not see the place where it all started. Where the night I’d repent for the rest of my life, and yet be thankful to, was spent. I can’t, not eavesdrop into his room through the window like I did before. Peeping through the curtain to see the bed where I’d very conveniently slipped into slumber over his chest while watching a movie and woken to have fallen in love with him. The room where I first realized he had someone else in his life, a secret he’d hidden that had broken me into pieces. The room I’d stomped out of in anger and self loathe, for eyeing someone else’s man and being low enough to change my being just to please his eye. The Awesome Room, the Awful room. So I turned back, my eyes closed, mustering all the courage I had in me. I had to lift my heavy steps and drag myself to face that room. I let out the biggest of sighs and opened my eyes, but I couldn’t walk ahead. For there he stood, the owner of the room guarding it like a guard outside the Buckingham Palace- stern and alert.

And I turned back to runaway. Yes, me who wouldn’t run on a treadmill, was now ready to take a flight…

Footsteps on Sand

We walked together, there was sand around,

Walked hand in hand, leaving footsteps on the ground.

Footsteps- our memories, some good some bad,

The proof we possessed, the few possessions we had.

We walked for a bit, and then the waves came,

Things began to tremble, nothing seemed the same.

I felt your hand, slip away from mine,

Everything changed, nothing was fine.

I called for you but I was left alone,

I turned around and the footsteps were gone...

Love Found, Love Lost!

What Ayesha Thought part 5

He broke it all- the trust, the love, the fantasia I was a part off.  I was right, I was just a nincompoop, held within the web of emotions and blinded by this dillusional world of “love”. There’s no such thing as an alpha male. At the end of the day, they’re all just selfish creatures walking on two legs with empty heads, brains in place of hearts and hearts in place of a crotch! And he’s no exception, perhaps an extention of the nasty snakey world of the XY Chromosome holders.

Omar Malik is a liar and theres nothing that gets me more infuriated than a lying snake. But just once- I’m not angry, I’m hurt.  I don’t understand why I was subjected to such trecheary? We were friends right? So why did he keep me in dark about her? I never told him I love him, I never said I wanted anything out of him,  all I ever expected was friendship, and clean friendship. Without cons and  frauds.  I don’t know who she is- his girlfriend, mistress or just a darned fling he had/has in past (like he suggests) or now (as I would like to say). It’s just that, I can never feel for him what I felt so far and that, I know is not his fault. That man who stabbed me a million times with a couple of mushy texts in his facebook inbox doesn’t even know I’m in love with him.  I know its not her fault either, I don’t even know what she looks like, but she seems so much in love with him. I feel like I’d tried eyed someone else’s man, someone else’s property. I feel like I’ve been upto something low, so illegal. He should’ve told me, if not let out his little secret then atleast given me a hint. I would’nt have stepped into this bog. I can’t go further, no, that would be so wrong., my heart wouldn’t allow me to do that. But, how do I step back now? Now, that I’ve overstepped my sanity and all that happens around me what he does.

I was perfect in my ways, so clear about my fundas. Love was but a  turbulence in a perfectly normal person’s perfectly normal life. The further away the better it was for me. What had I consumed to have changed me, ruined me? I was a fool, to have thought my ways were wrong. I was a fool to have thought love and all this shit was my cup of tea. I was a fool to have believed a foe can be anything even close to a friend. A fool to have thought our ways could ever be one…

But now the bubble’s bursted. I’m out of the mirage I’d made for myself. Love exists only in Mill’s and Boon’s and I’m no Prince Charming’s damsel in distress. Now on, there will be only bittersweet memories and regrets hidden deep within. Regrets of attraction, regrets of friendship, regrets of love.

Omar Khan, you changed me once and you’ve changed me again. For good, and for better and now for worse!

Accepted!

What Ayesha Thought Part 5

“So you’re saying you aren’t dating him, but you’ve slept with him?” My girlie from India barked into the phone.

“No, shithead, that’s not what I meant.” And with that I’d given up justifying how I ‘slipped’ into slumber while my head beautifully rested on his chest completely in synch with the ups and downs of his upper body, my arm being the perfect length to wrap around his belly.

“Listen, I don’t know what you mean. I’m confused! You aren’t dating him, you aren’t just friends with him, and you’ve slept in his room and not done ‘IT’ ! So what exactly are you doing?” She said everything so slowly, I thought I’d been taken back grade 2.

“Listen, I need to go- “

“No you listen; I need you to tell me. You aren’t dating this boy because you don’t love him or because he’s from Pakistan? Ayesha, what are you doing- “ She went on, rambled without me paying much heed. I stood looking out of my window. One hand stuck next to my ear with a confused female screeching like a runaway mad bonze and my eyes stuck on him. He waved at me from five stories down. Screamed my name over and over again and signaled me to come down. And there, I knew, it was it, it was him, he was the one!

“ Ayesha, Ayesha, AYESHA!” I heard her screaming into the phone. Her voice didn’t need a phone to reach me, she was a human loudspeaker!

Smiling, no correction- Grinning as wide as I could, I announced – “I’m in Love. I AM SO IN LOVE.”

“What? No, with him? You’re playing with fire Aesh! Listen to me- “ But it was too late, I’d hung up. On her and on anything that linked my heart to any of my brain cells.

I was in love. Since day one, and I had accepted it today. Omar Malik was never the one for me, nonetheless, I’d chosen to obtain the one forbidden fruit in the Eden Garden. I had a million, million dollar questions in my mind right then- Did he love me? Am I going to risk my best friend to love? Was it all worth it? Would I be telling him? And the last question was the only one I had an answer to. Was I going to tell him?- No, never. That won’t happen! Why? Because Ayesha from India can fall in love with Omar from Pakistan, but India will never fall in love with Pakistan and never will Pakistan spread its arms for India. What happened in London should stay in London, more importantly, what happened to this heart would stay in this heart!

Mango Marshmallow, Strawberry Shortcake!

                            

What Ayesha Thought 4

      

I should hang myself with a few strands of my own hair. Or pour rat poison in my cereal, or even better, drown in a couple of sissy Mills and Boons. I wore lipstick today and a nauseatingly sweet lavender perfume before meeting him for movie. What am I trying to do? Woo him, like some lusty, pouty lipped, pink princess of the pacific? Oh god, I’m barely making sense to myself anymore!

Seriously, why am I being bothered by what he likes and what he doesn’t? I shouldn’t be giving a flying crocodile’s wrinkled arse about if he likes Biryani or if Pizza suits him like the rest of us low lives. But I care, and it’s driving me insane. Since when did I get considerate enough to care what someone else liked for dinner? The restaurant always had to be my pick. I like Chinese, so Chinese it should be. But it’s not, it’s Biryani now, because Omar likes BriyanI. No correction – He louuuves ‘The Biryani’ (louves as in with the toungue rolling inward, yes that’s how much he loves it). And ironically, back in the hour I didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it.

The issue isn’t what we ordered , or where we went, or whose choice it was. The whole hullabaloo is about this newly found ‘care’ and affection that I’ve developed over the last few days. I’m not the loving, caring sorts. I’m the mean, spoilt, My way-or-the-Highway kind of a person and I’m comfortable being just that. This new improved me is like a clone of me that is an inch-to-inch exact replica, just better behaved. Like really better behaved.  I’m not kidding, I didn’t curse a single time this evening, not even under my breathe. It’s scary.

What’s all the more infuriating is this new association I have developed with Bolly songs. I swear there’s a song each for every occasion. They just trigger off when I see him, or when he gives me a ‘dude hug’ or when he leaves. Creepy! Everything’s started to feel so ‘Yash Raj Films’. There’s the classic breeze that comes out of nowhere to randomly blow my hair (even though I’m just left looking like a caveman after the fifteen seconds of sexiness pass), and then there is rain that adds to monotony. I swear I sang in London’s sticky drizzle.

I feel so Mango Marshmallow and Strawberry Shortcake. Really, I feel all gooey and swampy and diabetically sweet these days. The tone I talk to him, have I ever been that nice to myself? Where’d the chick with phenol on her tongue go?

I’m losing it. Not just hating the fact that I’m turning into The Pinky Peachy Princess, but also the fact that it makes me smile- at an arbitrary change.

Foes by Nature, Friends by Choice...

What Ayesha Thought 3

Omar Khan, where should I start? How should I end? Should I call him an idiot, or cunning enough to come across as someone so alarmingly adorable? Sometimes, he seems like a colorful bud, wrapped in a million layers of conservatism and idiosyncrasies. He’s everything I’d hate in a man, and sadly everything that would drag me closer to someone.

He’s laughter, he’s fun, he’s anger and what makes me angry. He can piss the hell out of me in a second, and make me laugh the very next one. He’s the kind I jibed about with my friends back home. The sorts with sickeningly high MCP levels. My best friend in India says I got a crush on him. No, hell no! I’m just being high on adventure hormones, trying to like something I usually won’t.

Attraction is there, it’s prevailed the scenario since day one. But love? No, definitely not. And that’s what my friends back home don’t understand. They say I’m playing with fire, but why? I don’t love him, leave alone ‘being in love’ with him. Besides, what’s wrong in having a foreigner friend in a foreign land? Even if he’s someone from across the border, someone from Pakistan! I don’t understand the hullabaloo behind being friends with someone who, had history not played a wicked game, would’ve been one of us. Can a line drawn on soil with a bunch of metal wires decide who our friend could be and who is by all means a foe?

Call it human nature or just an urge to consume the forbidden fruit, I’m friends with him and I’m loving it so far. We watch movies, eat junk food, talk about absolutely random stuff on our blackberries all day! He can’t stand my nerve to be open minded, I can’t tolerate him narrow headed behavior. He hates almost all my habits- from boozing to smoking to my ‘loudness’ and honestly, I’m yet to start making peace with his ways. But we’re friends, no we’re best friends because sweet pancakes taste the best with a little bit of sugar and a tad bit of lemon!

Joy in the Fish Market

What Ayesha Thought...

...and What I Feel.

Happiness exists, and I can say that because I just bid farewell to it. Usually, pessimists like me crib about there being no joy in and around them. Funnily, this sadist has a different story.

September 20^th, 2011, I was down and out in life. There was no love, no friendship, no family. A foreigner in a foreign land, I dragged my steps towards the Fresher’s Fare at the Uni. Who know back then that someday, ‘The Uni’ would become ‘My Uni’.  No I hadn’t a clue about what awaited me inside the longitudinal massive hall. Apart from, the fear of bursting a vein just trying to breathe in that Fish market.Stalls trying to sell everything and anything a student could think off, sales so attractive we wouldn’t think twice before splurging, pamphlets on every table like paper was made for the rich to make paper planes and fly.

 Posters, Flyers, Samples, Forms, I picked and filled up everything that came my way. I’d given up on my stubbornness and accepted defeat to the myth that making friends was a child’s play. So here I was In the battle field, fighting to grab as much attention and smiles, marking my category of people who could be my plausible friends tomorrow.

Passing smiles and brief ‘hello’s’ and ‘goodbyes’ I made my way leaving hundreds behind to where Joy stood. I saw happiness stand in front of me wearing a blue hoodie, playing fifa on his Iphone, trying to sweep his long untidy hair off his eyes. And suddenly, my jaws stopped hurting, smiling felt like an effortless task.  I’d found someone, a friend, a neighbor, a senior and my prospective happiness for future. As happy as I was to finally talk to someone in my own mother tongue, he seemed scandalized to have met a big mouthed, Queen of Babble like me. Having him confused as an Indian I approached him with the biggest sigh of relief, what felt weird was his reaction to be called Indian. It was both hilarious and offensive. He almost instantly corrected me, “I’m from Pakistan!” he said and my smile widened. A dream come true, a friend from across the Barbed Wire.

“We’re neighbors.” I introduced myself and we shook hands as if signing a peace treaty. Being the Noodle Brain that I’ve always been, I spoke way more than I should’ve. Nonetheless, I never regretted. If I was to be blamed of having the biggest mouth, he had the biggest head. His introduction seemed more like a package of achievements. He’d held quite a few important posts at the Uni and that’s what he said in place of his surname. Honestly, I’d never met someone so adorably pompous ever in my life. He could put Alexander the Great to shame while stating his conquests. Funnily, I could feel my eye-balls turn into the shape of little hearts; I was attracted at first sight. Why, I never figured out. How, I never bothered to find out. No he wasn’t the hottest man on earth, but yes he definitely was the cutest I’d ever met.

I spent to rest of my day thinking how ridiculously crazy could I act? Why was I thinking about this lousy boy with puppy eyes and long black locks falling all over his face? Was this love. No, couldn’t be, I’d only just met him. So what was it? I smiled and frowned as we texted each other all day, almost all night and then the next day again. And all this while, I contemplated who this Brown guy, with a name as sweet as a pastry could be to me.

I never found out until last night when he decided we were history. He was Joy, he still is Joy. Just not ‘My Joy’ anymore.

Happiness exists, even if for just a while. It slips into your life when you least expect it to, touches you, makes you smile. Ironically, sometimes it even makes you shed a few tears. But it makes sure it’s there like the sunshine after rainfall, while it’s with you. And then, one day when you’re least expecting it to leave, It escapes without a word, without a sound. Just like it came, silently, through the open gates of your hearts.

But if it’s gone, who says it won’t come back. Sweet bliss travels with a Multiple Journey Visa. It might come back some day, all you need is to wait for it, just like I will…