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.

Dusky#6 The Art of Reading

One can never master the art of reading, but I can finally say I’ve come a long way from where I started, five years ago. Art never holds on to something for too long, and nor should you. It took me a lot of time to let go of inhibitions, and love all kinds of books, new and old, expensive and cheap, clean and scribbled in, and it’s been one crazy journey. Like a major part of the reading community, I set on the journey of the reader through Harry Potter, the most common ‘gateway’ into the world of stories. Though I’d read a lot of tales and experiences before, it was with this that I identified myself as a ‘reader’, and I’m glad the journey had such a magical beginning. I fell in love, headfirst, with each reread, and not once in the seven reads, did I get bored. As I discovered the the most popular books of the fantasy genre, I found myself getting more and more awe inspired by the attributes of courage, love, and justice that the stories talked about. LOTR, The Hunger Games, The Chronicles of Narnia, Divergent, and the list really doesn’t stop there. These books, are some of those that played an amazingly important role in transforming a shy introvert, into an expressive and analysing person, and I couldn’t be more thankful. But as you explore more and more people like you, you start seeing the beauty in reading the yellowed pages of an old edition, almost radiating the warmth of the love it’s been given. And it reminds you of the blanket your grandma made for you, that keeps getting warmer and more comforting with the passing years. You realise warriors are amazing people to read about, but so are love stricken school boys. The number of stories out there, waiting for you, is unimaginable, even for the most knowing scholar, and though I still judge a book by its title, opening my mind to more and more types and the sources of my books, has been one of the best journeys I’ve yet undertaken. And trust me when I say that my bookshelf really does look prettier, as the age, genre and stories told by these books gets diverse. Not just the stories written, but also the ones told without words.

Dusky#5 Everything Happens for a Reason

It had been a year since I changed cities. Leaving behind everything from my friends to my childhood, I moved to Mumbai. But if there was one thing I couldn’t leave behind, it was what could have been love. I knew it was stupid, and that I’ll have to meet new people sometime. One day, I finally decided to stop thinking about it all, and live a normal young life. And that, is when I met you.
It was my first day, and I was new to everything. Everyone knew everyone, and I was a stranger to it all. But in this mass of strange faces, my eyes chose you to be the first face they rest upon. And from the way yours did too, I knew it was something at first sight.
Do you remember how everything happening that day seemed fate’s plan to bring us together? And do you remember the way I was surprised when you grinned at me, stupidly turning behind to make sure it really was for me? Months passed, and I was just as mesmerised by you as I was on the first day.
We had the most beautiful time of our lives, but we both knew that ending it with fights and heartbreak wasn’t going to be a choice. It was an unspoken agreement to wait for fate to cross our paths again, and the goodbye was sealed. Happily, with a smiling face, and with a promise to self to never forget this beauty.
That night, it rained. Heavily. Do you know I didn’t use my umbrella when I went home? It was better this way, without one. I had tears streaming down my face, all the way back. They weren’t for sadness. I’d realised why we were granted such an enviously beautiful story. I was made to meet you, to make me realise love has no limits. You can’t restrict it. You can’t love someone more than anyone else. You’ll always find people to love more, because that is one thing we humans should pride ourselves on. Our ability to love. Everything happens for a reason. Meeting you was for one, and leaving you was for another. Because if I didn’t, wouldn’t that ruin the purpose of meeting you in the first place? There are people to meet, smiles to share, and experiences to have. You can’t put bars on life. But do you know I will always wait for us to meet again, in a far away land as strangers, just to feel the warmth you gave my heart, turning my insides to water and my happiness to euphoria?

Dusky#4 First Love

I always thought first love was overrated. But life is funny. It takes pleasure in proving us wrong, doesn’t it?
One day, when I'll be old and tired of my little adventures, sitting near the window reading Harry Potter, or writing about all the people I’ve loved, some troubled adolescent will come to me and ask me about my first love. And I’d be so, so proud to talk about it.
Our first love never leaves us. It always keeps coming back to us. I’m not saying it’s impossible to move on. Moving on and forgetting are two different things. But something will always bring me back to it. He’ll be my biggest ‘what if?’ The memories of being braver than ever and holding on will never leave me. I’ll never forget how my heart told me it was just the right thing to do, letting him know. How I had to remind myself every time to look away from the chain hanging at the back of his neck, peeping from under the collar. How every nerve in my body controlled my hands from moving in his hair. How I could feel the heat of his presence whenever I passed him in the corridors. How he grinned at me that day after lectures. How his feet felt above mine. How his intense eyes made me want to hide myself, but yet made me want to stare into them for ever. How his cheekbones showed distinctly when he blushed as I entered the classroom that day. How he smiled showing those perfect teeth. How he tried to get back to me after we thought it ended, but never could do it… and how that last goodbye sealed everything in my memory. It meant that this relationship won’t end with fights or tears. It’ll end with a smile.
He made sure the memories never died.

Dusky#3 Dusk

The sun was setting, leaving behind a panorama of colours in its wake. Ignoring the ringing of the doorbell, she sat in her balcony, staring at the sunset. Because that’s what she did when her heart craved to be told that her life wasn’t as big as she thought it was, and that she wasn’t really important enough in the magnificent universe. We humans always look for an escape, after all. It is a relief to be told that our lives and sins don’t really matter. The sun was almost lost behind the buildings, and the shades of saffron would soon be overcome by the greed of the violet. And so, shall night set in, bringing with itself the velvety blackness, perturbed only by the little bright spots of light brave enough to try to break through, all trying to be what hope is to the depressed, what a crumb of bread is to the starved, what a small smile is to the hated. It wouldn’t calm the need, only fuel it. And there would be hopeless chaos.
If only she knew that the words her mind created in one single glimpse, were not a description of the sky, but the reflection of her own self and the destruction she left in every heart that loved her, she would know, that the dusk matched her skin… and soul.

Dusky#2 A Life High on Passions

Drowning in hopeless romanticism,
Dreaming with eyes wide open,
Writing heartbreaking stories,
And living in masochism.
Addicted to the extremities,
The deliberate illusions,
Adding the darkest maroon
And the lightest pink,
A life high on passions.

Dusky#1 Your Average 17 Year Old

Your average 17 year old with dreams, and a not so calcified pineal gland, yet. Just another soul without an idea about what it's doing in the ever expanding universe, I'm what you've been in your years of growing up, someone you probably gave up on as you were told that it's time you became realistic. Or maybe, I'm that part of your soul you're still holding on to, someone you visit every night after a long day at the hospital, preserved with love in the pages of your diary. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm that calling of your heart which you listened to, had a moment of doubt about, but someone you held the hand of tightly, and just ran, ran, ran headfirst into the labyrinth of your own creation.
I'm that child who's dreamed of saving the school when the masked men attacked, I'm that girl who wishes death greets her in war. I'm that lover who dreams of holding the hand of her romeo, and running away from all that is known, as the Bollywood gundas run behind them, guns in hand, and I'm also that girl who loves tattoos and piercings. I'm that girl who will enjoy sitting with you in cafe`, saying nothing at all, with a smile on my face, and also the girl who will agree to run away with you for a trek in the woods. I'm that promise you made to yourself in the summer of 69, I'm the years of your life that you wish you lived a bit more.