Dusky#13 One Nemesis

Wars are chaotic. Wars are messy. And wars never end. Ideas end, beliefs end. Enemies change, and so do we. What is essential, is to not lose our essence under the pretext of war. Getting overwhelmed never helps. Stop. Look around. Ask yourself. Who is the real enemy? Citizens of a nation, who themselves question their leaders, or the leaders, who seem to be only following the orders of a larger threat? Pakistan or India isn't our enemy. Islam or Hinduism isn't our enemy. Pakistani artists earning money in Hindustan aren't our enemy. Indian artists producing Ek Tha Tiger or Agent Vinod aren't our enemies. How pointless it sounds, to differentiate south Asian art into Indian and Pakistani, seeing as the 'desi' is incomplete without either. Wars are confusing. Wars are manipulative. Wars are passionate too, to the point of depriving us of our ability to question. Think for yourself. The real enemy is he who turns brothers into enemies, turns protectors into murderers. The real enemy is who suppresses the seemingly powerful to unleash violence, the real enemy is who won't go into open battle, but claims lives through cowardly attacks on innocent civilians. Indian or Pakistani, Hindu or Muslim, today, you and I have one enemy, one nemesis - Terrorism.

Dusky#12

"Wake up, sleepyhead! It's 5 in the evening, and we - were supposed - to be meeting 15 MINUTES AGO!"
I feel a pillow hitting me on the side, as my covers are pulled away from me. I fight as hard as I can, half asleep, but he wins, like he always does.
"Uh what do you want to do?! It's all rainy and depressing out there, I don't want to go out. Let's just sleep, come on, I'll share my bed with you," I say, with a supposedly irresistible smile.
"You do realise you look less like a hottie smiling in all her sleepy glory, and more like a drunk frog, don't you?"
I can't help laughing. "You're bad with metaphors. Who even thinks of a drunk frog?"
"Yeah well words are your department, not mine. I want you up and about in 10 minutes, no complaining."
"What are we gonna dooo?"
"Walk in the rain. 'Rim jhim gire saaaawan. Sulag, sulag jaaae mann'," he sings, and I'm staring at him, now awake.
"What are you looking at me like that for?" he says, narrowing his eyes.
"You sang bollywood."
"Uh yeah, guess I did. Am I not allowed to?"
"You don't listen bollywood. And also, that's one of my most favourite songs. And it's quite old. Tell me how you know about it," my voice dripping with suspicion.
"Yeah okay," he says, raising his hands in surrender. "I know it's your favourite. I read about it in Amy's slambook."
"And...?"
"And I listened to it."
"And...?"
"And I might have memorised a few lines."
"You did. You really did. Oh my god, and all those times I refused to watch your favourite TV series..."
He's smiling, but his eyes speak a thousand words. I can't recall the last time I've been looked at with so much affection, and I'm blushing so hard, my cheekbones hurt. I move toward him on the bed, and hold both of his hands in each of mine, my eyes staring into the depths of his. He moved both of his palms to the sides of my neck, raises one to my face, looking intently into my eyes. I'm about to close my eyes, when he ruffles my hair and bursts out laughing.
"Put some okay-ish clothes on, babe. We're going out in the rain," and walks out of my room.
I smile as I watch him go. With a content and happy sigh, I collapse back on the soft bed, this time, completely awake but still in a trance.

Dusky#11 All My Life, I Wanted Someone to Fall in Love With Me

I don't know how many people get a chance to meet their soulmate, but I sure got to meet mine. It was a once in a lifetime thing, and never again am I going to meet someone who seems to have always been in love with me, just never found me before we talked. Three days is nothing, but enough to fall in love with someone you've been looking for all your life. He is my mirror, he is everything that I am. He talks like me, he thinks like me, he loves like me. He is perfect for me. Unfortunately, though, love doesn't look for perfection. Maybe if I'd not already been in love with someone else, we'd be the best thing ever. It was almost miraculous, call it coincidence or fate, the way we came across each other, talked to each other, realised that this person is me. If I'd had the slightest idea he was my soulmate, I'd have known that him counting our similarities in our first texts were universe's ways of letting us know it was rejoicing in the union of souls made for each other. I'm sorry baby, I can't tell you how sorry I am to break your heart, to take away from you what seems to have always belonged to you. I'm sorry I can't love you, and I hate the fact that you're never gonna fall in love with someone else the way you did with me, because I was made for you. I sinned when I went against what was clearly the universe's plan, but I'm sorry I don't regret it. All my life, I have wanted someone to fall in love with me, but now, I dread the fate of my next lover. I warned you, I made you promise not to fall in love with me, because, I'm just like you, a lover. I can't give up on that one true love of my life, that one love everybody gets to experience, but very few get to live. It's pathetic, the way these feelings run their businesses, and I'm sorry they gave us such a little time together. You're my soul mirror, and I'm sorry I'm not in love with you.

Dusky#10 The World isn't Divided into Good and Bad, but it's Sure Full of Cowards

One rainy day, as I was standing on the bus stop, waiting for the bus that would take me home, a woman who looked about 55 came to me. She asked me if she could make a call from my cell, and I extended my hand. One glance at the phone, though, and she hesitated and asked me to dial instead. Though taken a bit aback by this change of mind, I typed the number that she recited from memory, and proceeded to call it. The bell rang, and I gave the phone in her hand. She kept it close to her ear for a while, but looking disappointed, handed it back to me. I tried again, this time keeping it with myself, but still, nobody answered. I told her there was no response, and asked her who's number it was. She said it was her son's, and she had to warn him about something. I pointed her towards a nearby phone booth, as my bus would arrive any minute. She walked in the direction I pointed, but I kept an eye on her. As expected, the owner refused to let her call. She turned back and came to me, just as it started pouring. Her eyes grew large and she stepped closer to me under my umbrella. The distance was less enough to make most people uncomfortable, but I didn't move. There was an urgency in her tone, and her eyes sparked with maniac energy. It was scaring me, but I pushed the fear aside, because it was baseless. She started talking words that didn't make much sense to me, but it was obvious she had to warn him about some woman trying to hurt him. She asked me to call him again, and I obliged. With the cellphone to my ear, and the incessant ringing still going on, she told me to pass a message. I nodded my head, as she started singing. Again, maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was the frantic beating of my own heart, but the exact words never reached me. A few lyrics and notes here and there, though, and I realised the song spoke about forgiveness and how it's never late to come back. I was paralysed. She ended her song, joined her palms in a namaste, and walked away in the rain on the crowded street. I'm ashamed of letting her go, till this day, and I still feel disgusted at my own cowardice. As I regained sense a few seconds later, I ran to all nearby streets looking for her, but I could never find her. All the way back, I kept calling the number she gave, but to no avail. I let an old, abandoned woman walk away on the crowded streets of mumbai, and it's one of the biggest regrets of my life. That day, I realised the world isn't divided into good and bad, and though most of us aren't bad at heart, but we're sure as fuck some big cowards.

Dusky#9 Don't Kill Me

Don’t kill me.
Don’t kill me.
Don’t kill me.
The artist is begging.
I understand writing is your passion.
But a good degree means respect.
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
A respected profession, makes a respected person.
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
Science is good money.
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
Work harder, then. I’m sure you can find time for both of them.
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
Just get a seat. Earn admission, and I’ll know you’re not doing this because you can’t.
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
You have the brains, you know. You can make it so big in research.
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
Just complete what you started, these two years. And then, you may do what your heart says. No pressure.
Don’t kill me. Tick Tock. Runs the clock.
Everyone feels like this. It’s just a phase. It’ll go. You’ll know it for yourself.
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
Do you still feel giving up a good science degree is worth it?
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
But you love biology, don’t you?
Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.
Say it today. But one day, you’ll realise money is important too. You can always keep writing.
Don’t kill me.
All that they say, make no sense to it. It is a one way conversation, if you’ve never seen a deer at the moment right before its shot.
It doesn’t understand money, respect, or admiration.
It understands only survival.

Dusky#8 A Post About Despair, That's Honest AF

This post is for each one of you, who's known the struggle of screaming silently in the dead of the night. Each one of you, who knows how despair is glamourised in art, to the point of it being unethical. Nobody looks pretty with tears steaming down their face, nobody looks pretty with chapped lips that tremble in cold winter nights. And you know what, that's alright. So here's a piece about despair, that's honest as fuck.
Your tears aren't as precious as they tell you, so really, just cry for your own sake, when you really want to. There's nothing wrong about shedding a few tears, if that's what it takes to cleanse your soul. There's nothing wrong in speaking up about what you're going through, because that way, you're fighting it. That way, it makes you brave and not a coward. Don't trust the novels which talk about 'ideal' men who don't let the world know about their demons. The world is full of people with good intentions and useless advice, and if you're lucky enough to have advisors whose talk makes sense, don't let them go. Yes, doing what makes you happy will help you be too busy to concentrate on the sadness, but you gotta know that nothing except closure will get rid of the deeply embedded roots of anguish. Ask yourself what you're looking for, make a plan, face the inevitable, get the chapter done with. If you're looking for answers, gather the courage to get them, once and for all. Do everything in your power, because that's the only way to end this agony permanently.
Something for people who are friends with possibly depressed persons, know that the absence or presence of laughter is a totally pointless criterion for despair. Most people going through tough times live a bipolar life, going to sleep as a different person, and waking up as a totally different one. Look for sudden transitions from smiling to the lack of it, look for enthusiasm in everyday activities and maybe, the lack of it. Carefully observe their sleeping pattern, the way they tell it, and the way their body tells it. Observe how many times they shop a week, observe the amount of makeup they normally apply, and the amount they apply these days. Take a note of the metaphors they use, and the art they create. These criteria, though absurd maybe, make a lot of sense, and I speak as someone who's been through it all.
Drastically degrading mental health is a serious issue. Yes, I know adolescence causes half these problems, which disappear as the person gets older, but that's really not an excuse to not help someone or our self fight them.
You are loved, no matter what you feel, and I don't say this for the sake of pretentious care. You are. As long as you're still capable of feeling this pain and the need to fight it, you're human, know that. It's really sad that people stop loving and trusting, and it's extremely important that while fighting depression, you know what makes you, you, extremely important that you know exactly what you believe. Be completely sure about your views on love and trust, and stick to them. Don't let pain turn you into a rock, know that love doesn't cause pain, expectations do.
Fight the demon, and help others fight it. Compliment people, smile at them, spread happiness. After all, a good life is all we seek.

Dusky#7 Dreaming My Way Out

I dream about a world where a woman doesn't wish she had her brother or husband or friend with her, as she walks down the dark street on the way to her home. A world where the family doesn't ask the thirty year old about marriage, everytime they have dinner together. A world where seats reserved for women on the public transport are a thing of history. A world where actions are not linked with attributes. A world where the hymen is just a part of the female anatomy, that nobody even knows the use of, and honestly, nobody cares. A world where the five year old is taught to not hit anyone, rather than to not hit girls. A world where the kiddo isn't laughed at for saying he's gonna become the President of the most powerful nation. A world where your sexual preferences aren't looked down upon, a world where it's okay to love meat and also to go vegan. I dream about a world where you don't teach your kids to respect the elders, rather respect everyone. A world where I change myself only for me. A world where schools aren't factories, making us stand in straight lines, study the same subjects, and wear the same clothes, but the biggest platforms of self expression that a child will ever get, a chance to discover what your abilities are, and more importantly, to discover what your choices are. I dream about a world where uniformity isn't a necessity, a world where stress only inspires. A world where it's okay to not belong to any country, but keep moving, despite being born in one. A world where no teen faces low self esteem, and a world where the young aren't afraid to love. I dream about a world where I make choices, only for me, and not because I'm made to, and a world where I can take full responsibility for the outcomes of my life. I dream about a world, where you and I know ourselves perfectly, inside out.