Posts Tagged ‘story’

To endure something you didn’t wish for is, life. I never asked to be born, nor did I sign any deal with God for this life. To say the least, I am a product born out of lust, and greed of people who were too worried to let their financial legacy go away to somebody except their own blood.

But I was born anyways, and was brought up in a civil jungle with tender and care. Sometimes, I used to get some beatings as well, for not following laws, or rules. I learned my way as I grew up. I knew when to smile; I knew when not to smile; I restricted my laughs; and I cried alone.


I kept finding myself in the midst of darkness, and I couldn’t escape one bit of it. Until that very day I realised that the very light was inside me. And only I could unleash it from the dungeons people were too afraid to look into.

I unleashed it, and it transformed into, feelings.

The world was a little brighter than before. I started listening to these feelings; did what I actually felt like. But I realised that the more I tried to fulfil my satisfactions, the worse I turned for the environment around me. The environment, still had rules; and it wanted my feelings to return to the very darkness it came from.

I didn’t know who I belonged to exactly: the environment or this voice inside me? Did my feelings hold any value? Was I suppose to only pretend to smile my whole life? Why did the environment, that born and nurtured me, wanted to clip my wings and kept me in its cage?

How was I free, under an open sky? How could I endure something that I didn’t wish for – this life.

Could death be a solution? Or would it be equally daunting as life? Would I meet my feelings in person once I leave the grasp of this environment? Would these feelings embrace me – or my soul?

I now stand in the midst of a reverie. I am escaping the lust I had for darkness, to meet the unknown at the other end of this dimension.

Or would I be born again? Against my own wishes? And will ask the same thing, that I didn’t ask for it? What if I am in a vicious circle I cannot escape?

I need my void so I could slip inside and disappear into it with my light, my feelings, and my love. I need my own environment. That’s my little hope!

Or should I just wake up from this dream?


Before I Met Her

“What’s the purpose of your visit,” asks an unsmiling Caucasian officer from behind the glass.

It has been a long flight, and most of the passengers around me look visibly tired. I, on the other hand, have birds in my stomach. Its a new country out there; its a long-awaited holiday for me; and most important of all, its the first time I am going to meet her. But I also have a liability to look calm, and non-stupid in this new place.

“Meeting my girlfriend,” I reply to the stern officer.

He was not expecting this answer, and I try to keep an innocent face to lower down my frankness. I think to myself if he can actually deport me back to New Delhi for proclaiming my romantic adventure. An Indian immigration officer would have taken offense. ‘Its still better than saying to meet the President of Armenia,’ I think to myself, ‘and I am not even a Khan.’

“Welcome to Hayastan,” the officer says to me, creating a rhyme with my inside-out-conversations – Khan-Hayastan. He ink-punch my passport with his best ability, confirming – that for the next 11 days – I am legally entitled to date her. I should really hug this officer for amplifying my excitement.

I manage to stick to a “Thank you” as I go past that metal door. ‘But what the hell Hayastan is? Have I boarded a wrong bus, airbus? Is this even a right country?’

There is a stream of thoughts that flows inside my mind. Starting from the day I got introduced to her, to the day we became friends, to the day we e-kissed, to the day we fell in love, to the day I decided to save money to visit her, to the day I did save enough, to the day I bought my airline tickets, to the day my Visa got approved, and to this very day when I am just minutes away from seeing her for the first time without needing a computer screen. This stream must freeze the moment I see her. I’m getting prepared.

The luggage finds me easily; arrows guide me like friends; people clear my ways; and all the borders break loose while I step into Armenia. My eyes search through walking silhouettes, looking for her. But they don’t find her. ‘She must be around’, I repeat in my head several times. But she is nowhere to be seen.

“Where are you M?”

And I get a lump in my throat.

To be continued…..